


Kintsugi

by jaibhagwan



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-12
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-01-24 16:39:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1612061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaibhagwan/pseuds/jaibhagwan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>S4 AU. Carol was everything to him and then she was lost. When Daryl finally finds her again, everything has changed except his feelings for her. Can he help her remember the goodness inside of her the way she once did for him? Kintsugi is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery using gold to mend the seams. Is there a better metaphor for Caryl? I think not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: I don't own The Walking Dead or any of the characters. I'm also not a professional writer. Your feedback is my only payment.

_**The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places. ~ Ernest Hemingway** _

 

They found her battered body inside the trailer, coiled loosely on the floor. If it wasn't for the unique short style of her hair and her bag sitting on the table, she would not have been recognizable.  _Carol_. Her face was swollen and covered in bruises. Her bottom lip was busted open, and the blood had pooled and dried on her chin. She was naked, caked in mud, and blood was smeared down her legs and over her emaciated body. Her hands and feet were bound, the chicken wire cutting into her wrists and ankles.  _No, no, no! Not this._  Daryl took off his jacket immediately and covered her, fighting the disgust that was seething in his stomach. White hot anger lit his fists on fire. He wanted to kill something. He settled for kicking in one of the paneled cabinet doors, splintering the wooden door in half. He ripped another off its hinges with his bare hands and smashed it to smithereens against the countertop. It didn't stop the agony from slicing through his chest. This couldn't be happening.

Michonne knelt beside Carol and gingerly touched the woman's wrist to feel for her pulse. "She's alive, but barely. I think she has some broken ribs. Probably a concussion."

 _She's alive._  He let out the breath he was holding. Pushing the anger aside, he sprung into action, pulling the multi-tool from his pocket and kneeling down on the other side of her. He cut the wire around her ankles first, wincing as his fingers lightly grazed her purple, inflamed skin. He felt the painful echoes of her bruises on his own skin like a sensory memory. Some things were never forgotten. Gently, he unwound the wire, pulling it away from her delicate skin, the wounds bleeding as he did so. He did the same to her wrists, but when he pulled the wire away, he held onto one of her hands and tenderly rubbed the wound with his thumb. The fragility of her skin betrayed the strength he knew she had.

"Carol!" he exclaimed trying to rouse her. Tears swelled in his eyes and threatened to spill over.  _Please_ , he begged silently. He ran his fingers over her hair, the only place he thought it looked like it might not hurt. "Carol, wake up." The words were piercing and frantic.

She didn't stir.

He swallowed the tears, leaving a lump in his throat. "You think it's safe to move her?" he squeaked doubtfully. He looked at Michonne with an urgent hope.

"I don't think we have much of a choice," Michonne replied, taking notice of how the apprehension made Daryl suddenly appear much younger. "From the looks of the camp out there, the assholes who did this could likely come back."

"Let 'em," he growled quickly. "They'll be wishin' they were dead." He slammed his fist onto the floor, stamping his guarantee.

"Believe me, I want them to pay just as much as you do for what they've done to her, but she can't wait for vengeance." She had no doubt he'd seek it. "We have to get her out of here."

He knew she was right. He focused on the sting of the impact vibrating up his arm. Flexing his hand, he redirected the anger pumping through his veins. "I can't…I'm gonna carry her, but not…not like this. We gotta…she needs…fuck!" Desperately, he looked around the empty trailer for something to cover her with. He grabbed her bag and searched through it finding nothing useful. It had been plundered, and anything of value had already been taken.

He started unbuttoning his shirt, narrowing his eyes at Michonne, daring her to say a word as he slowly removed it. She said nothing. "Will you…cover her?" he asked hesitantly, handing it to her.

Michonne took it and nodded. She knew what he meant. He wanted to protect Carol's modesty. When he turned himself away, Michonne saw the scars on his back, but said nothing to him to indicate she'd noticed them. Her respect for him only deepened. She wrapped his shirt around the lower half of Carol's body like a skirt. She fastened several of the buttons up the front and tied the sleeves around her waist. Then she sat behind Carol's head and grabbed her gently under the arms to pull her up into a sitting position. She guided her arms into the sleeves of Daryl's jacket and zipped it up.

Daryl turned around when he heard the zipper. Carol looked so tiny to him, laying there against Michonne, wrapped in his clothing. Her wounds were still weeping. He cut the sleeves off the shirt and tore the material into strips, wrapping the material around the wounds on her wrists and ankles to stop the bleeding. When he was finished, he put his bag on his back and slid the strap of his crossbow across his shoulder.

He picked her up carefully, remembering the last time he had her in his arms in this way, when he carried her from the tombs. Comparatively, she was so much lighter now, nearly brittle. He thought he was going to crush her in his arms. Cautiously, he followed Michonne out of the trailer and back into the woods.

He wasn't sure how far away from the prison they were, but they were about two days from a housing development where he knew they could find a car. He had been searching for Carol for the past month after Rick had told him he'd banished her for killing Karen and David. He'd tried to insinuate that Carol had killed them in cold-blood, but Daryl had known better.

Rick had been slipping since Lori died. He had been slowly losing contact with reality. He was hallucinating, seeing visions of his dead wife and talking to ghosts, not accepting the truth. Hershel thought it was some type of grief-induced psychotic break. Everyone thought Rick had been getting better since he had stepped away from the leadership role and took up farming.

"Working the earth is very good for the soul," Hershel had proclaimed to the council when they had finally started the garden. "It can heal a broken heart."

It seemed like it was working until a new crisis erupted at the prison a few months later. A deadly flu had broken out causing people to hemorrhage out of their eyes and slowly choke on their own bodily fluids. After dying in the night shortly after showing symptoms of the sickness, Patrick had turned and started feeding on people in their sleep. Chaos had broken out in Cellblock D as people panicked over this new threat. Karen and David were next to show symptoms and they were quickly isolated from the rest of the group. After Karen and David's bodies were found burnt to a crisp, more people became infected and the virus had spread like wildfire to half the population. Tyreese had been angry and looking for someone to blame for Karen's death. They had tried to calm him, but Rick had lost the remnants of his mental stability on Tyreese, beating him senseless before Daryl could get him off the man. Shortly afterwards, Daryl had left with Michonne, Tyreese, and Bob to fetch medicine from a veterinary school a few days away.

They had returned to complete chaos at the prison. People were dying left and right from the virus and the outer fence, weakened by the Governor's attack, had finally collapsed allowing walkers inside the inner prison yard. In the end, they only managed to save Glenn, Sasha, and Lizzie with the medicine. Daryl had expected to see Carol by Lizzie's side since she had gotten sick right before he left. But he couldn't find her anywhere. When Rick had told him he'd made the decision to exile Carol on his own, without consulting the council, Daryl was furious. Rick's grasp on reality was tenuous at best and he had been removed from any leadership position. He had no authority to make such a decision. Daryl discussed his concerns about Rick's sanity with the other council members and they agreed to keep an eye on him while Daryl left to find Carol and bring her home.

When Michonne had found out what happened, she volunteered to come with him. She knew he would need assistance. Daryl had helped her track down the Governor so she could avenge Andrea's death. They had become good friends in the process, and she felt she owed it to him, even though she knew Daryl had been seeking his own revenge for his brother Merle.

Within a week, they had found the car Carol had taken. It was abandoned, Daryl had gathered, for engine problems. The keys were in the ignition, and there was half a can of gas in the trunk. He had been hopeful when he'd picked up her trail on the moist soil in the woods, grateful that she'd done the smart thing and stayed off the road. They'd found a few of the camps she'd set up and a few slain walker corpses along the trail that suggested she was still alive. It had given him hope. Her tracks were a week old and covered with dead leaves, so reading them was a laborious process and slowed them down.

Soon, however, Daryl picked up additional human foot prints. There were at least two sets of male tracks. His stomach clenched when he realized they were also tracking her. He could barely sleep and kept insisting they push forward. He knew they were still too far behind her to intervene. A few days later, he found evidence of a struggle. Her tracks disappeared. They never found a body so he hoped she was still alive. They continued to track the men's prints, and eventually hers resurfaced again. However, she had been injured and was limping. The realization had made his blood boil.

He became distraught as he relentlessly pursued her. He was barely sleeping and eating. He knew what some men were capable of, and at night, he dreamed of every horror he could imagine. The agony of not knowing what was happening to her was driving him mad. Michonne kept at him, reminding him to sleep and eat.

"Anger makes you stupid. Stupid gets you killed. You'll be no good to her a dead man," she warned him. "You need to keep your strength up."

Yes, Michonne had kept him sane.

After traveling for a couple of hours, they stopped to rest by a stream. Daryl laid Carol on a flat rock at the water's edge. He took the red rag from his back pocket and wet it in the cool water. He gently wiped away the dirt and blood from her face and then let it rest against the bruise on her eye and the swelling of her cheek. After a while, he rinsed the rag again in the water, attempting to keep it cool against her skin.

Michonne passed him an expired energy bar. He tried to refuse it, but she gave him a long, hard stare. "You need it for her," was all she said. Reluctantly, he ate it. She was right; he was going to need all the strength he could muster if he planned to continue to carry Carol to safety. Now that he'd found her, there was no way he was going to leave her side to go off and hunt, especially considering her condition.

He refreshed the rag again and again while they rested. He hoped it was helping. When they left the stream, he thought some of the swelling had gone down. It gave him a little relief.

He was exhausted, but fueled by his sheer determination to return her to the prison and to the family that loved her. He wasn't sure how Tyreese would respond, but Daryl knew the man had no malice in his heart. When they had returned to the prison after the medicine run, Sasha, had been knocking on death's door. He had to know then that Karen's death was inevitable. Carol likely kept her from suffering and turning.

Daryl's arms ached from the weight of her, but his heart ached more from the weight of the sorrow and guilt he carried for the state she was in. If he had only gotten to her sooner, maybe he could have done something about it. The load grew with each heavy step he took as he worried for her well-being. Every time they stopped, he ran the wet rag over her lips, concerned that she was dehydrated.

When they finally stopped for the night, Daryl set some snares up around their camp, hoping to catch something for breakfast. The sweat was dripping off him from his efforts. The night air was cold, but he took no notice of his own discomfort.

Exhausted, he lay down next to Carol and noticed the swelling was still grotesquely warping her features. He longed to see the smile that used to linger there. The memories of one of the last times he'd seen her with a smile on her face flickered into his mind. It was a smile he had put there. He had been so bold, so unconcerned about his blatant flirtation that day. She made him feel that anything was possible. She had given him hope. She had given him her faith. It had been wholly unconditional. She'd made him feel he was worth the effort of dealing with his moods and his doubts about himself and everyone else. It had been something close to a miracle that he had grown to feel like a man of worth, a man who could be worthy of her. Somehow, he had allowed her behind the wall, and it made him stronger. Her love had made him a better man.

They had been eating breakfast and she had been recalling something amusing that Judith had done. Her face had been animated as she told the story, and the light filtering through the prison windows had only accentuated her beauty. She had been so caught up in the telling of the tale that she had become careless with the oatmeal she had been eating. The spoon had left an errant morsel on the outside of her lip. He couldn't take his eyes off it. She looked adorable, so much younger than her years. He couldn't help but feel youthful himself around her.

"Are you even listening to me?" she had inquired lightly.

"Always," he assured her, looking straight into the deep blue pools of her eyes, drinking her in, and then allowing his eyes to wander slowly back to her lips. They were so soft and inviting. He wondered if they tasted warm. He had licked his own lips in anticipation. He hadn't meant to. It was simply an automatic response to his hidden desire. He had been so obvious about it, he was sure the gesture clearly betrayed his thoughts. He wondered if she had noticed.

"Something on your mind, Daryl?" she smirked.

"Always," he had repeated. She was always on his mind. It was in this moment he'd realized he was done hiding his feelings for her. Something had told him she wouldn't mind them. He didn't care what anyone else thought. So, he'd leaned across the table then, reaching for her cheek with his hand. His fingers had stopped to smooth the unruly curls behind her ear before settling against her delicate jaw line. His thumb brushed slowly against her soft lips before encountering the spot of oatmeal that lingered near the corner. Even when he had wiped it away, his thumb remained tracing the warm contours of her lips. He finally pulled his hand away and stuck his thumb into his mouth, sucking the tiny piece of oatmeal away that only moments ago had been touching her lips. The brilliance of her smile at his reaction had only made the moment sweeter. He had felt it light him from within.

The memory felt bittersweet and heavy in his chest as he looked at the gash on her lip. He wondered if it would scar her perfect smile. Certain she would only become more beautiful to him if that were the case, he curled around her body protectively before falling asleep.

Seeing this, Michonne sat down behind his back to help him stay warm and kept watch. He didn't ask her to. He wouldn't. She knew Daryl would have let himself freeze to death before he allowed Carol to suffer a moment more.

He loved her. It had been obvious to Michonne from the moment she'd arrived at the prison. Clinging fast to the steel bars, she had watched their family reunion from the other side of the cellblock door. Even teeming with anger for being held against her will, she had seen the love they shared for one another, and it made her remember a part of herself that she had locked away after Mike's betrayal. And Andrea's. Daryl was a good man, a hothead, but he was honorable. Over time, she came to learn he was deeply loyal, and she respected him for that.

She let him sleep a long time, knowing he'd need it. Waking him close to daybreak, when she could no longer keep her eyes open, she took his place beside Carol when he got up to take a piss. The earth was warm where he had lain, and Michonne had fallen asleep quickly.

Shortly after dawn, Daryl checked the snares and found a rabbit that had been trapped. He skinned and prepared it for roasting over the small fire he built. By the time Michonne arose, it had been fully cooked. Hungry, he handed her a sizable portion and consumed the rest.

After he licked his fingers clean, he knelt down beside Carol's limp body. The swelling of her face was noticeably decreased, allowing him to see the outline of her delicate cheekbones. With a heavy heart, he lightly traced the backs of his fingers along the fine ridges he saw barely protruding and sorrowfully recalled the beauty that lay beneath her wounds.

He'd failed to protect her. He never anticipated that the threat would come from within the prison, from someone he'd considered family. How could he have known?

"It wasn't your fault," Michonne said, reading his mind. They had spent a lot of time together chasing down the Governor, and she had come to understand his moods. She knew they were both prone to brooding. "There was nothing you could have done."

He knew she was right, he just hated the way he felt, and he was used to blaming himself for everything that went wrong. Some patterns were hard to break.

"She was worried about the girls, felt like she was gettin' in over her head takin' them on after Ryan died. Didn't think she was ready. But she wanted to do right by them to make up for–" he felt her name like a stone in his gut, "for Sophia."

"After the outbreak, I knew somethin' was eatin' at her," Daryl agonized. "So I just lied an' told her I was fine. Had to be. Couldn't tell her the truth. Didn't wanna add to her worry. Maybe if I had, she wouldn'ta had to feel so alone. Maybe we coulda figured it out together. I shoulda known! Damn woman hated to feel like a burden. I knew that! I shoulda stuck around and listened instead of runnin' away from my own feelin's about it."

_Like a fuckin' coward._

"She thought she was alone.  _I_  made her feel that way. Me! I coulda stopped it all if I'da listened. If I'da just been there for her the way she'd always been for me." The regret burned in his eyes.

"You can't play that game. You can't possibly know that. It will eat you up inside if you keep thinking that way. Then what? All that matters is that you're there for her now. Trust me, she's gonna need you to be. So  _be_  there for her. Don't cover yourself in that shit and hide away. It ain't about you no more."

Michonne was right. He couldn't selfishly wallow in self-doubt. When Carol recovered, she would need him to be strong for her. He had to step up and quit burying himself in his feelings. It would do nothing to help Carol.

He removed the rag that was resting on Carol's cheek and ran his fingers over her head. Releasing a faint moan, she began to stir slightly.

"Carol?" His voice was tender. "Can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?"

Carol's eyes barely fluttered open before closing again. "Please," she whimpered softly.

The single plea was a knife in his chest. "S'gonna be okay. You're safe now," he told her with wet eyes as he stroked her head.

Her eyes opened again, rolling back as they tried to focus. "Daryl?"

"Yeah, it's me," he reassured her. "I'm here now."

Her eyes closed once more as she moaned. "Please," she begged again. The words were barely audible before she passed out. "Just kill me."


	2. Chapter 2

The air was suddenly sucked out of his lungs.

_Please._

She had implored him. Her piteous words assailed him as they played over and over in his head.

_Kill me._

They blasted into his skin, deepening the cracks in his confidence, and plunging him into despair. He imagined her misery, her unaided fear, and his own memories of being confined and violently oppressed began to inundate him. The panic thrummed in his ears.

He felt Michonne's hand suddenly on his shoulder, pulling him away from his thoughts. "Stop," she said. She kept her hand on his shoulder as if to anchor him.

He didn't flinch. He'd gotten used to the tender human contact people normally engaged in when they valued you. Carol had taught him that. He had slowly learned to trust the others in his family. He knew what the light touches conveyed.  _I care about you. I support you. I'm glad you're here._  They were new concepts to him and they still felt odd, but he had stopped pulling away from the affection. He allowed himself to accept the personal contact as a necessary kindness. He learned to tolerate the initial discomfort from the closeness and let the feeling behind the touch sink in and soothe the jagged insecurities that lay deep in his core. He came to appreciate the comfort these soft touches brought to him. They felt good. They filled the empty hollow inside that made him feel inadequate, unloveable. He'd even begun to reach out and offer his own clumsy efforts if he thought it might help. And sometimes he did so because he found he enjoyed making a physical connection with someone he cared about. It made him feel whole.

So, even while he felt his heart rupturing into shards, he could also feel himself infused by Michonne's strength as she stood behind him, reinforcing his resolve. He wiped the back of his hand across his wet cheeks and wheezed in a deep, shaky breath. He wasn't alone in this.

He nodded his head in acceptance. For his own good— _for Carol's_ —he had to stay out of his head. He struggled to keep breathing slowly and deeply. The air burned as he drew it in, but with each breath, he felt a little better, a little more together. This was not the place to fall apart.

After a while, he was calmer, more focused. Determined. Though it hurt worse than any beating he'd ever taken, this wasn't really about him. It was about what Carol needed. For once, she needed him to be the strong one. Gently, he gathered her into his weary arms once again, and they continued their long, slow journey home.

The trek was brutal. He was actually relieved she was unconscious so she didn't have to feel any pain. They encountered a few handfuls of walkers along the way, which Michonne deftly dispatched with her katana. He felt torn about fighting; he wanted to lend a hand, but Carol was helpless in her condition and there was no place to safely leave her to join the fray. So, he hid in the shadows with her as Michonne drew the attention to herself. He felt guilty that he could not assist her as he listened to her katana sing and slash through the walkers' skulls. Still, he knew Michonne could handle herself and was appreciative that she had come with him. He couldn't imagine what he would have done if he'd found Carol on his own. He couldn't have done it alone. It would have broken him. How the hell had he ever believed the lie that he was better on his own?

They stopped every few hours so Daryl could rest. Each time, he devotedly took out his rag and tended to the contusions on Carol's face. He ignored the soreness that had crept into his arms. His growing concern for her prodded him onward.

Late in the afternoon, they arrived in the evacuated subdivision. After some searching, they found a small 4-door sedan and hotwired it. Michonne drove while Daryl sat in the back with Carol, her head resting in his lap. He slowly caressed her, running his fingers along her hairline, ruefully longing to take her injuries onto himself.

At one point, Carol opened her eyes again. She was disoriented and had trouble focusing. She groaned as she tried to move. Her head lifted barely an inch off Daryl's lap before limply falling back again. "No!" she mewled as her arms feebly lashed out in a spastic manner.

Her whimpers cut him to the quick. "Shhh! S'okay," he soothed her. "S'okay." He slid his fingers across her matted locks, the pads of his fingers brushing the soft skin at tip of her ear. He wanted to howl in anguish as she became motionless once again. So he bit his lip and dug the fingers of his other hand into the seat, white-knuckling his way through the rest of the ride.

The twilight sky had split into darkening ribbons of orange and magenta when they finally arrived at the prison. Michonne flashed the headlight signal to notify whoever was on watch that it was them arriving. Maggie and Sasha welcomed them at the gate with large smiles.

"We need your father," Michonne said to Maggie through the opened window.

Maggie nodded, her smile quickly fell from her face when she met Michonne's serious demeanor. "He's with Beth in C Block."

Michonne drove up to the building and parked the car just outside the door to the cellblock. Carl came outside when he heard the car pull up. "You're back!" he shouted jubilantly as Michonne exited the vehicle.

"We are," Michonne responded pleasantly, casting him a wide grin. She was fond of the kid.

"Did you find her?" Hope clung to the edge of his voice.

"We did." Michonne's smile quickly faded as she opened the back door to assist Daryl. "Need you to go find Hershel now and tell him we're comin' with her."

Carl nodded, his face turning serious by the task he was given, and quickly went inside.

By the time Daryl came through the door with Carol in his arms, the others had started to gather in the main room. Their faces appeared as grim as he felt.

"Oh my gosh, Carol," Glenn gasped in shock.

Rick tried to approach Daryl, but Glenn held him back. Daryl made his way towards the cells and placed Carol on the bottom bunk in the cell that Hershel ushered him into.

Hershel professionally masked his shock and horror and got down to business. "How long has she been unconscious?"

"Dunno exactly. Found her yesterday mornin'. Out cold. She came to briefly this mornin' and again in the car." His voice cracked as he felt the chill of her plea cutting through him once again.  _Just kill me._

"That's a good sign," Hershel assured him. He limped his way over to Carol and began his examination.

Michonne reappeared beside Daryl. "Let the man do his job. You need to eat something," she told him, trying to pry him away. She handed him a clean shirt to try to sweeten the appeal.

Reluctantly, Daryl left the cell, putting the shirt on, and walked past the concerned faces towards their makeshift kitchen to find something to eat. They seemed to know to keep their distance. He looked around at the shelves. Everything was neatly organized. The bowls were stacked, the utensils were sorted by type, the food stores were arranged to easily take inventory. Everything reminded him of Carol. She was nestled into every nook and cranny. This was her domain. The entire place reeked of her.  _She's the goddamn backbone._  He grabbed some oatmeal and put some water on to boil. It was all he could manage as the tension within him started to build. Something on the wall nearby caught his eye as he grabbed a plastic bowl from the shelf. It was a Polaroid of Judith. Her face was covered in mashed carrots. She was beaming that infectious, toothless grin of hers.  _"If that's not pure joy, then I don't know what is,"_ he remembered Carol telling him as she snapped the photo with the camera Glenn had picked up on a run. It was one of those little things Carol did for all of them—she garnished the place with love. The sight of it knocked the wind out of him and sent him careening over the edge. He burst into tears.  _She don't deserve none o' this._

That was when Rick decided to approach him. His face was full of sadness as he witnessed Daryl's disintegration. Rick had been convinced of Carol's impenitent indifference. He thought she was a threat to them all. He didn't want her around his kids, his family. But then everything had gone to hell so quickly. He hadn't known Daryl would feel differently. Rick knew he was protective of the group. Tyreese had been thirsty for vengeance, and Daryl had told him they were on the same side. Rick had been so certain he'd made the right decision. Hadn't Maggie agreed he'd done the right thing? But then Daryl had run off to find Carol, and Michonne had gone with him.  _Michonne._  Rick hadn't quite understood their alliance. But it was the way Carl had looked at him when he learned what Rick had done to Carol that haunted him the most. He was ashamed of his own father.

"I didn't mean for this to happen. I-" He tried to clasp him on the shoulder, but Daryl shrugged off his sympathy.

"What did you expect? Huh? Sendin' a woman out there.  _Alone!_ " And a tiny one at that. The image of her frail figure lying in the trailer intruded in his mind's eye. He would have gouged out his own eyes to never have to see that again. His fingers gripped the bowl. The woman was strong, capable even, but she wasn't invincible. Not on her own. No one could make it on their own anymore. Even together, given enough pressure, they were all breakable. Rick had reached his own limits, and it splintered his mind, but he had been intolerant of anyone else's breaking point. Shane's. Lori's. Carol's. Daryl felt like he had reached his own.

"Makin' that decision on your own? That's why we set up the damn council in the first place!" The anger flooded into his hands. He flung the bowl against the wall, and it clattered noisily to the concrete floor.

His fists grew rigid with rage. He took a step towards Rick. "After everything we've been through… After what I've done for you…How could you think I'd ever be okay with it? That any of us would?" he bellowed, the agony of Rick's decision staining his dirty face in shiny wet trails.

"I-I thought she was a danger to us," Rick tried to explain.

With both hands, Daryl grabbed Rick by his shirt and pushed him roughly against the wall. He wanted to strike Rick in his face to make him feel how much his actions had hurt him. Maybe he could knock some sense into the man. But despite what he'd done, Rick was still family, and Daryl cared about him. He didn't want to be like his father and take his grief out on the people he loved. He was a different kind of man. He was Carol's man of honor. She had suffered enough, and he was damned if he was ever going to let her down again.

"A danger?" Daryl turned, ripping the photo from the wall and shoving it into Rick's hand, daring him to see who Carol truly was. "She fuckin' loves your damn kids like they're her own!"

Studying the picture of his daughter, Rick realized he'd never seen it before. Her expression automatically put a small grin on his face. She was a miniature reflection of her mother. Remembering how Lori used to clutter their refrigerator door with photos of Carl from events she wanted to remember and celebrate, his eyes grew wide in full recognition of what he'd overlooked. Carol was the only mother Judith had known. His grin dissolved. He had taken Carol away from the people who needed her.

"I'm sorry," he choked out with tears in his eyes. "I'm so sorry."

Daryl was too numb and resentful to feel Rick's remorse.  _Too little, too late._   _Damage's done._ Rick had annihilated his trust.

"Save it for Carol. If she'll have it. Your words don't mean shit to me now,  _brother_." He spun on his heels and bitterly made for the exit, shoving the door open with a violent thrust and storming out into the night.

Hearing the commotion, Glenn and Michonne approached cautiously from the cellblock as Rick stared at the photo.

"Everything alright?" Glenn asked.

"How could I have missed it?" Rick wondered, pulling his eyes from the picture.

There was a long pause as he reflected on his interaction with Daryl.

"How could I not see that he loves her?"

"Grief can blind you from the truth," Michonne stated. "Been there myself. Caught in my head, talking to...ghosts. I was gone for a long time. You miss a lot when you're gone."

* * *

Rick's betrayal had hurt Daryl worse than Merle ever had. Merle had been a selfish asshole, but he'd been upfront about it. Daryl wasn't sure he could ever trust Rick again. The energy from his anger was still coursing through his veins. He was still pacing in the near dark when Glenn came outside.

"Hey," he said, keeping his distance when he saw Daryl's agitation.

Daryl acknowledged him with a glance, but didn't stop his pacing.

"I'm glad you found her. She belongs here. With us."

Glenn's reassurance brought Daryl's pacing to a halt. He began to settle.

"I totally get why you're angry. I get it. I mean, when Maggie-" Glenn stopped. He didn't want to think about how the Governor had humiliated Maggie. It was over and the Governor was dead. "I just…I understand. Whatever you need from me, know that I got your back. Okay?"

Daryl looked at his friend and nodded. "Thanks. Means a lot."

Glenn stayed with him as night fell and caught him up-to-date on the happenings around the prison. They had refortified the fence and made some other security improvements. He told Daryl that he and Maggie had been looking out for the kids, especially Lizzie and Mika.

"That Lizzie, I don't know," he worried. "There's something off about her. Did Carol ever say anything to you?"

"Yeah, said she was confused."

"I'll say. Hershel told me she thought the walkers could understand her. She almost got bit while she was in isolation. She saved my life though, apparently."

Daryl raised his eyebrow. "Thanks for lookin' out for 'em. I know Carol would appreciate it."

"Yeah, of course," Glenn nodded.

"How's Tyreese been? He know about any o' this?"

"I don't know. He's kinda been keeping his distance from Rick. Now that Sasha has recovered, I think he's better. I'm not sure what she's told him. Council's been busy with the repairs. I've taken him out on a few runs while you were gone. He's a nice guy. But he's still grieving."

Daryl's talk with Glenn helped to calm him down. Later, when he returned inside, Michonne greeted him with a warm bowl of oatmeal.

"What? They domesticate you already?" Daryl teased her.

"Say what you will, but you know that woman's gonna have my skin if I don't make you eat something."

He conceded with a sigh and took the bowl from her.  _She would._  The thought almost had him smiling.

When he finished eating, he felt ready to check in on Carol. As Daryl approached, he saw Beth exiting the cell with a bucket of dirty water and tears in her eyes. She put the bucket down and embraced him quickly. He stiffened from the surprise of it.

"Thank you for bringin' her home, Daryl," she murmured.

Her appreciation relaxed him. He brought his hand to her arm to acknowledge the small peace of mind she'd given him. She pulled away and looked him in the eye before gathering the bucket and heading off to dispose of its contents.

When he entered the cell, he noticed Carol was clean and dressed in her own clothes. There was a bag of saline solution hanging from the top bunk connected to a tube sticking out of her wrist.

"She gonna be okay?" he asked Hershel, who was checking her pulse.

"She doesn't seem to have any internal bleeding. That's a blessing as she's got three broken ribs. Her injuries suggest some trauma to her head as well. But we won't know if there will be any effects on her memory until she wakes up. I've started the IV to help rehydrate her."

Daryl nodded. Then his thoughts turned darker.

"Was she-" He couldn't even speak the word aloud. He didn't want to imagine it.

Hershel knew what Daryl was asking about. The truth was too horrible to discuss openly. Hershel looked away, the tears in his eyes confirmed Daryl's suspicions. She was like a daughter to Hershel. He couldn't bring himself to complete the exam, but Michonne had volunteered. She confirmed the tearing and bruising that left no doubt as to what had occurred. Carol had been brutally raped, beaten, and left for dead.

Daryl felt like his heart had been ripped out of his chest. He had slammed his fist into the wall until his knuckles bled. The resultant pain wasn't enough to mask the immense heartbreak he was feeling for Carol's torment. He started pacing again. He couldn't bear the helplessness he felt. He didn't save her. He couldn't stop it. Rick had left her out there to suffer and die. It was unforgivable.

"Son," Hershel considered Daryl exactly so, "it hurts all of us to know how she was mistreated. But you can't let your anger consume you. Rick is troubled. Scared even. He had no way of knowing."

"Don't," Daryl warned him. "You think you'd be as quick to forgive him if it were Maggie or Beth he threw out?"

Hershel paused to consider his question. "I'd like to hope I would."

Daryl shook his head.  _Hopin' ain't the same as bein'._  He couldn't imagine it. "You're a better man than me."

"I don't think that's true."

"Why are you always makin' excuses for him anyway? You coddle him."

"Even a good man is prone to make mistakes. I've made quite a few myself. It's not the error that makes a man wicked, son, it's his lack of remorse for it that does. If you want to be angry at someone, you be angry at the men who did this to her. They are the ones without conscience."

"Oh, they'll get what's comin' to 'em," he seethed. "Trust me."

"I don't doubt your determination. Still, it won't change what happened. She's suffered a major trauma. There's no telling how it will affect her. We'll have to wait and see."

He walked over to the small table and picked up a small amber bottle.

"Beth found some painkillers in Caleb's medical kit. So we'll start her on these as soon as she wakes up. But I've made up a list of other supplies she'll need. I gave it to Michonne."

"I'll take Glenn and Bob in the morning," she reported from the doorway.

Daryl felt strange as the guilt rose up. Going out for supplies was normally his job. But he didn't want to leave. He was too worried about leaving Carol unprotected in the prison. He still wasn't sure about Rick even though he appeared remorseful, and he hadn't been able to speak with Tyreese yet.

"It should be me out there," he lamented.

"No, it shouldn't. You've got other responsibilities now," she reminded him.

 _You ain't my problem!_  The words he'd yelled at Carol that night on the farm after Sophia died came flooding back to him. He'd had it all wrong. He had been in so much pain that he denied the truth even to himself. He'd cared about them both and Carol had known it. And despite all his attempts to thwart it, his caring for Carol hadn't stopped when Sophia came stumbling out of that barn. It had only grown. By some magical means, Carol had captured his withered heart and revived him. While he cared about the welfare of the others, he'd realized he'd finally accepted that Carol was his priority. There was no going back.

"I don't trust Bob. He been drinkin'?" he asked Hershel. Bob had risked their lives for a bottle of whiskey he found on the medicine run at the veterinary school. He had even reached for his gun when Daryl had threatened to smash it.

"Not a drop as far as I know. We've been meeting twice a week for our 'Friends of Bill' club," he smiled at Daryl referring to their sobriety. "No need to be anonymous anymore. Remember, Bob's a trained medic. He'll be good to have along."

Daryl grunted his concession. He wasn't convinced, but he wasn't going with them either. He had to trust that Michonne would keep an eye on him.

After Hershel and Michonne left to retire for the evening, Daryl pulled the mattress off the top bunk and laid it on the floor near Carol. He didn't want to leave her alone. She was home where she belonged. Her family would take care of her now. She was already starting to look better now that she was dressed in her own clothes and her wounds were tended to. She looked more like Carol than the ghost he'd found. For the first time in over a month, a warm sliver of hope flickered in his chest. He felt like he could finally rest.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm overwhelmed by your support for this story! A special thank you to one of you lovelies who nominated me for TheCarylDaily's 2014 Fanfiction Awards. I feel so honored that you think so highly of me and this unfinished story. You have all been wonderfully patient for this chapter and I thank you. I was so excited to finally be finished that I rushed to get this update to you as soon as possible. So please forgive me for any typos. I love you guys! -jb

The darkness was thick and foggy. Impenetrable. Carol felt like she was floating in one moment, but drowning in the next. She couldn't ever remember being seasick, but the nausea she felt was prominent as she lingered in the haze between the numbing aridity of unconsciousness and a complete flooding of her senses.

The crushing heaviness was pressing her down, deep down, into the center of the earth. It was like being buried under cold steel.  _Not that._  She could feel the fire at the core burning her from the inside out. There was no air, and then suddenly it was coming in like jagged glass.  _Yes that._  A rank stench, hot and sour, dominated the space in between.  _You'll get what you deserve._ Something shattered inside. Sharp white jolts were piercing into her.  _Please!_

 _Can't fight karma, bitch._  There was the sound of choking and then silence. Dead calm. Crimson red pools floating before her eyes.  _Redredredredredredred._  The knife was in her hand, drenched in blood.  _No one to hear you scream._  Sticky warmth oozing.  _I had to do something._  Her stomach bubbled, the bile percolating in the back of her throat. Cold, threatening eyes were condemning her.  _He'll kill you_. Down, down, down the hole she went. Too far gone.  _It's me._

Hot and sour. There was a stinging cut across her skin.  _You askin' for it?_  Ed's angry fist thrusting forward.  _No!_  Fear dripping cold and wet. Crunching burst of pain.  _Can't be._  Crushing weight pushing her down, squeezing all the air out of her lungs until it burned. Dirty paws all over. All over. Blood on her hands.  _Be strong!_  Heaviness pressing down.  _Redredredredred._   _Ed's dead. Ed's dead! ED'S DEAD_! Brown leaves.  _Dead._  Dead calm. Paralyzed. Being held in the dirt.  _Don't look! Don't look!_ Warm oozing, down. Cold eyes.  _They won't want you._  Birds chirping.  _I don't want you here!_  Garbage, left outside. Wind blowing a tin can down the empty, quiet street.  _Nothin' but trash._   _Please._  No air.  _Too quiet._  Burning. Filth.  _Redredred._  A cool breeze grazing her hot skin. Laughing man with bad teeth.  _Bad, bad._  Hot and sour.  _Dirty cunt's askin' for it. Gonna give it to ya real good. Not good, not good._

 _Carol! No! Gonegonegone_. Cold eyes.  _Left her. Left me._  White jolt _._ In the dark.  _Can't be._ Up in the trees floating like a leaf. The leaves rustling in the wind. The crunching of dead leaves beneath heavy footsteps. Shattered and scattered in the wind.  _Please._  Falling. Down in the filthy mud.  _Thirsty._  Bad teeth.  _You stupid fuckin' cunt!_ Dark, cold ground. Her back up against the rough bark of a tree.  _Surrounded._  Dark nothing.  _Shhh!_   _Need to hide._   _Where's my knife?_   _So much blood._  Oozing.  _Redredred_. Lying on the cool, hard cement. Sophia's scared face underneath the truck. Panicked whimpering.  _No!_  Bad teeth.  _I'll fuckin' break you._   _Be strong!_   _My baby's gone? Gonegonegone._ Down the dark hole. Gunshot echoing. Lying in the dirt.  _Just kill me._  Squeezing sharp sting.  _Kill you._  Jolting white. Hot and sour.  _So tight._   _Redredred_. Sticky ooze.  _Toss out the trash._ She was running fast through the trees.  _Lost._  Bad teeth.  _Hold her tight, don't let her get away_.  _Run Sophia!_  Dirty, stinging twinge.  _Gonegonegone._

Shadows whispering _. Not like this._  Spinning white light. Trees rustling. Babbling brook.  _Water._  Jagged glass.  _Thirsty._ Burning.  _Tight tight tight._  Cold, dripping fear.  _Take it._  Dead weight, sinking.  _No one to hear you scream._ Down deep.  _Nothing._

Carol tried to move, but the sharp jolts of pain stopped her. She groaned. It was dark. She was on the water. Floating. Sinking. Floating again. Down, up, down.  _All you had to do was keep an eye on her!_ Far away, there was a sound of someone breathing.  _Nowhere safe._  Heavy breathing. Hot and sour.  _Dead._

Too deep. No air.

_Tight._

"No, no, no!" Carol screamed out in gasping breaths. The pain was searing. Her throat was on fire.

Suddenly, there was a too-harsh light shining in her eyes, blinding her. Her head was throbbing. She squinted as a blurry figure approached her, but her eyes wouldn't focus.  _He'll kill you!_ She felt a stabbing pain in her chest as her heart raced. Was she having a heart attack?

"Shhh!" the gravelly voice said. "You're safe now."

 _Where's safe? Can't hide._  She could barely push herself up she was so weak. Her head felt like a block of concrete. She flailed her arms to keep the figure from moving closer. She tried to move, but she felt like she was in quicksand.  _Sinking._ The shadows and shapes around her started to spin.

"Stay away from me!" The words scraped in her throat like broken glass.

"Okay. S'gonna be okay. Ain't gonna hurt you. You thirsty?"

The male voice sounded familiar to her.  _Can't be._  This wasn't happening.  _It's not real._  She groaned again as she tried to move away. Her hand slipped, and she was falling back into the mud. Something caught the back of her head, keeping her upright,  _holding her down._  She stopped breathing.

"Thirsty," she echoed as she became acutely aware of her dire need for water and briefly ceased her struggling.

"Take these," the soft voice told her putting two small objects in her hand. "They'll help with the pain."

 _Take away the pain._  The figure was offering her water. She swallowed the pills like they were large pebbles. She started choking.  _If I'm lucky they'll kill me._  The water was cool but it still burned on the way down.  _So thirsty._

"Easy now. Slow down."

She emptied the water bottle panting as she caught her breath. She gagged on the bile that had risen in the back of her throat. She coughed and choked at the same time. It hurt to breathe. Her heart was still racing. The spasms in her throat were so powerful she almost retched.

"S'okay. Just gotta breathe slow."

Her breath was coming in short, quick bursts. She had started to consciously exhale when she felt herself being slowly lowered down.  _Down, down, down._  Resisting, she thrashed her arms at the figure. He brushed her arms away but didn't grab them. There was a twinge of pain at her wrist. Something was different about the environment she sensed, but she couldn't see well enough. There was no wind. Was she inside?

"No! No! Get off me! Where am I?" Her voice was full of fear she couldn't hide. "Where did you take me?"

The hazy figure sat back. "You're safe. Took you home."

 _Home?_  She panicked.  _Can't go back there._  "No, he'll kill me!" She struggled unsuccessfully to sit up again. The room was still out of focus as it spun around. "Where's my daughter? Where's Sophia? What have you done with her?"

The figure stiffened and moved away from her, into the shadows.

"Where is she? Where is she?" Her frenzied voice grew louder.

"Shhh! Gonna wake everyone up. Ain't gonna let nothin' happen to you."

"She's sleeping?"

There was a long pause.

"Everyone's asleep 'cept you an' me."

She felt exhausted. She was starting to feel numb. She fought the fatigue. "Gotta find her." She pressed herself up again, but got dizzy and lost her balance.

"Whoa! Easy now," the man said catching her as she fell forward and guiding her back down.

"Get your hands off me!" she yelled at him.

The man let go of her immediately. "Ain't gonna hurt you. Just don't want you to hurt yourself s'all."

"I need to find Sophia. Sophia!"

She continued to struggle, but the fatigue was gaining on her. Her eyelids started to get heavy.

"Shhh! She's restin' peacefully," the voice finally said gently. "Ain't no one hurtin' her."

Carol relaxed a little until she could no longer resist the drowsiness which overcame her.

"That's it. Jus' sleep."

She slid back down into her dark hole.

* * *

Daryl had heard Carol cry out and was up immediately, switching on the light, trying to soothe her. She was wide-eyed with terror and completely disoriented. She kept trying to get up, but she was so weak, she just kept falling over the edge of the bed. She panicked every time he touched her, trying to keep her from hurting herself. It made him wince. She was afraid of him. They had made her afraid of him.

After Daryl gave her the pills, he watched her drink the water ravenously and wondered how long she had been out there without food or water. Concerned, he took a mental note to make sure she ate something the next time she woke up. Carol was so frail and uncoordinated as she tried to push him away. In a flurry of arms and legs, she had managed to pull the needle out of her arm. There was a sinking feeling along the front of his body as he listened to the desperate fright in her voice. It became clear to him that she didn't know where she was.  _She even know it's me?_

Certainly, she wasn't herself. He felt the knife in his chest when she mentioned Sophia's name and staggered backwards from the blow.  _What have you done with her?_  It was just strange, as if she had completely forgotten that her daughter was dead. He couldn't bear to tell Carol the awful truth. She was already hysterical. The sharp smell of fear was seeping from her pores. He couldn't be the one to break her heart again.  _Never._  He was relieved when she finally fell asleep, but her wild eyes haunted him when he closed his own.

In the morning, Hershel came in to check on her, rescuing Daryl from his nightmares. He had barely slept. Every time he closed his eyes, he kept dreaming of that ravine where he had found Sophia's doll. He was wading in the creek, and the water level kept rising. His boots got trapped in the mud, and he was unable to move. He woke up when he was completely submerged, gasping for air every time.

"Any changes?" Hershel inquired.

Daryl shook off his fears and rubbed the fatigue from his eyes.

"Yeah, she woke up in the middle of the night. Terrified and thirsty as all hell. Had no idea where she was. Damn near fell outta the bed a few times tryin' to get up an' ripped that thing outta her arm."

He pointed at the empty saline bag which was now laying on the table. After she had fallen asleep, he had taken it down and wrapped the tubes around it so she couldn't hurt herself with it. He stood, picking up the mattress from the floor and placing it back on the upper bunk to make space for Hershel to move around.

"Gave her a couple o' those pills, too."

"Good. I'll have Beth brew some passion flower and lemon balm tea. That should help to calm her. We'll need to start her on a simple diet to build her strength up. Things that are easily digestible. Fresh fruit and vegetables first. Then maybe some rice. Once she tolerates that we can give her more protein. Beth can show you where the herbs and blackberries are growing just outside the fence. I think maybe some of the peas are finally ready in the garden."

Daryl nodded and cast a sorrowful glance at Carol. "She was kinda confused, too. She kept askin' for Sophia." Full of regrets, he looked down at his boots to hide his own grief. "I couldn't tell her."

"It's good that you didn't. Keeping her calm is in her best interest. We want to reduce her level of stress so that the healing process can be the most effective. For someone who's had a concussion, her behavior is not uncommon. It could be a while before we can tell if there's any permanent effects."

 _Permanent effects?_  Daryl started to chew on the loose skin around his finger as he wondered what that might entail.

"Don't worry just yet, " Hershel advised him when he saw the troubled look on his face. "Let's just take it one day at a time."

Passing by, Michonne stopped outside the cell before heading out on the run.

"How is she?"

"She's stable," Hershel replied.

The look on Daryl's face said he disagreed. He had the look of a wounded animal who'd lost its mate.

"His stubborn ass is gonna want to hold a vigil. Keep him busy. Make sure he doesn't hang out too long in here," Michonne warned Hershel as she nodded her head at Daryl.

"I'll try," Hershel laughed. He knew it would be a challenging task. No one could make Daryl do anything he didn't want to do.

"And take a damn shower. The fleas were bad enough, but I can smell you from here," she teased Daryl.

He threw her a dirty look. His hygiene was the least of his concerns.

"Before you go, I have a few things I want to add to the list," Hershel stated as he stepped out of the cell towards Michonne, leaving Daryl alone with Carol.

As he watched over Carol's sleeping form, he knew Michonne was right. The waiting would only agitate him. Even now, the walls were growing uncomfortably close. He could feel the pressure building in his chest. He couldn't sit in the cell all day stewing about Carol. A chill of trepidation ran up his spine as he recalled her wild eyes and the way she looked through him.  _That ain't her._

Shortly after Michonne, Glenn, and Bob had left to go on the run, Daryl went into the kitchen, where Beth had finished making breakfast. Daryl noticed Beth shooting daggers with her eyes at Rick's back as he walked up the steps towards the outside door. She brightened somewhat when she saw Daryl. She served him a heaping bowl of oatmeal and offered him a cheerful, "Good morning."

Daryl nodded his gratitude as he accepted the bowl from her.  _Damn oatmeal again._  The guilt rumbled in his gut as he wondered how much meat the others had been eating since he had been away. On top of everything, the fact that it could be a while before he could escape into the woods to hunt had him more than a little on edge. He wondered if Rick was still checking the snares and made the decision to check them later.

"Thanks. Everythin' alright?" he asked glancing back at Rick, who had already stepped outside, before meeting her eyes again.

"I know he did a lot to help us find this place, and I'm grateful for all that he's done. But I'm still mad at him," Beth explained keeping her voice low.

"You ain't the only one," Daryl grunted. "Does he know how you feel, or do you just curse at him behind his back?"

She cast her eyes down at the pot of oatmeal. "I don't wanna be disrespectful."

"The way ya'll tiptoe around him," he grumbled shaking his head. "Good Lord! It ain't helpin' him. The man lives in denial. He don't need protectin'. He needs to hear the truth."

"But you don't have to serve him his food or rely on him for protection."

He could see fear in the girl's eyes, and he didn't like it. It reminded him of the way Carol had looked at him after they had fled the farm. She hadn't known her own strength then, didn't know what she was capable of. He wondered if Beth believed she wasn't strong enough either. The way he saw it, the girl had lost just as much as the rest of them, if not more. She was as close to a kid sister as he ever had, and it made him feel responsible for her. He wanted her to feel as strong as he reckoned she was and to learn to stand up for herself. Luckily, Daryl had heard this argument before, so he felt comfortable offering her some advice.

"What're you talkin' 'bout? You don't gotta serve  _nobody_. He ain't your master! Let him serve himself. It's enough that you cooked it."

"But Daddy said to-"

"Uh-uh. He's a good man, your father. I know he means well, but screw it. I'm tellin' you it ain't helpin'. Let Rick take care o' himself. There's more important things to do around here. And it ain't disrespectful to speak your truth. It's important. This ain't fuckin' Woodbury. We don't need another Governor. You smell bullshit, you call it. You hear me?"

Beth nodded at him and stirred the remaining oatmeal in the pot. Daryl took a breath to calm down. He hadn't meant to lecture the girl, but he didn't want her to be afraid to express her feelings. He'd made that mistake before and regretted it. He didn't want Beth to make the same error and suffer as a result.

He took a few bites of the oatmeal. "Hershel told me you know where the blackberries are growin'. That true?"

"Yeah, there's a bunch just past the tree line," she confirmed, lifting her gaze.

"Will you help me get some? For Carol, I mean. Your father said they'd be good for her to eat."

"Sure, you know I'd do anything for her."

After breakfast, Daryl took Beth out past the fences to gather the blackberries and the wild medicinal herbs Hershel had requested. The sky was a patchwork of fluffy white clouds. As they walked down the path, he saw Tyreese's dark profile looking out from the guard tower. Daryl felt the dread clenching in the pit of his stomach. He knew it wouldn't be long before the man would be coming around with questions. Before they went on the medicine run, he had told Tyreese he'd put a bolt in whoever killed Karen and David. It was a promise he'd uttered before he learned what Carol had done. Once he discovered the truth, he knew he could never make good on that promise. When Rick had told him what she had done, he had known immediately why she had done it. Karen and David weren't killed in cold blood like they had originally thought. He knew that because he knew Carol. She was the exact opposite of unfeeling. She felt everything deeply. She cared about them all, probably too much. Everything Carol did was for the benefit of someone else. She gave little thought to herself.  _Anyone with eyes could see that._

Carl opened the gate for Beth and Daryl as they approached. Daryl followed Beth as she led him to a clearing in the trees where some blackberry brambles were growing. They worked quietly as they gathered the flowers and other herbs first, then the berries. Daryl kept one hand on his crossbow and stayed alert for stray walkers, which were mostly attracted to the far side of the fence where the survivors had purposely set up the wind sculptures to draw them away from the gate.

Beth noticed how the distress had etched into the lines of Daryl's face. He seemed older and harder since he'd left to search for Carol. Since they had come to the prison, she had seen him soften a great deal from when she had first met him on her family's farm. His concern for Carol had obviously taken a huge toll on him.

His brooding seemed to thicken the silence between them. Daryl got moody when he worried. Beth understood the reason for his concern. Yesterday, she had seen the extensive injuries on Carol's body as she cleaned and clothed her. She didn't understand how someone could be so cruel. As she contemplated this and tried to make sense of the situation, she picked the berries angrily and tossed them into the bowl she'd brought.

"Men are such assholes." She turned to Daryl, red-faced, when she realized she'd said it aloud. "Sorry, I didn't mean you."

"S'okay," he smirked. "I can be an asshole."

"But you're not cruel. Not like the Governor. Or the men who hurt Carol." Her brow knitted together as she tried to comprehend it all. "There was a girl from school, Pauline, I didn't really know her all that well. She was, um, _raped_ , at a party. People were really mean to her after. They said it was her fault. That she was askin' for it. I never understood why anyone would think that. Daddy just said, 'People can be ignorant fools.'"

Daryl cringed as Beth spoke. He was trying to prevent nightmarish images of what happened to Carol from entering his mind. But the minute Beth said the word 'rape,' his mind flashed to Carol's terrified eyes. He could smell the fear coming off her. His breath quickened as his blood started to heat up. His hands grew tense.

"It's not fair," Beth stated. "I don't care what Carol did to Karen and David. She didn't deserve this."

"Course not! Why? Someone say she did?" he asked growing suspicious. He was getting irritated by Beth's conversation. He flexed the fingers in his free hand while the other tightened around his crossbow defensively.

"No! They would never! I just- It's just not fair!"

"The world is full o' shit that ain't fair," he spat. "Ain't nothin' new about that."

Daryl started pacing, trying to get a hold of his anger. Beth glumly went back to picking the berries. She felt guilty that she upset him.

"Maybe," she began to speak hesitantly again after a while, "maybe that's the point. So that when you find people who are decent and caring you can appreciate them." She looked at Daryl hopefully.

"Maybe," he shrugged.

He didn't want to be angry at Beth. It wasn't her fault. Maybe it was because she was usually so quiet, but he forgot sometimes that she was still so young and simply trying to make sense of their crazy world. She was just a kid and upset about Carol like he was. He stopped pacing and returned to helping her pick the blackberries.

Caught up in her thoughts, Beth accidentally pricked her finger on a thorn.

"Fuck!" she hissed, sticking the affected finger in her mouth.

Daryl raised his eyebrow. He'd never heard the teen curse before and now she had done it twice within a few minutes.

"What?" she glared at him with a slight grin, trying to lighten the heaviness in the air. "I can swear, you know. You told me to express my feelings."

"Never said you couldn't," he smirked. "It's just a natural development from hangin' out with a Dixon. Wouldn't be surprised if it was one of Li'l Asskicker's first words."

"Oh no, Daryl," she gasped, covering the smile that had spread to her lips with her berry-stained fingers. "Carol would be mortified."

"Nah, she won't mind." His face grew rigid again as he thought of Carol lying broken in the cell.

"She's gonna be okay," Beth asserted, cutting through the uncomfortable silence before it had a chance to settle in and do more harm.

Daryl stared at her uncertainly. He recalled how disoriented and afraid Carol was last night.

"She is," Beth insisted.

"Maybe. Your father said it was still too soon to tell."

"But Carol's strong."

The girl had a point. Carol had survived an abusive marriage long before he had met her.  _She'd suffered more than enough._

"Damn straight." He wouldn't disagree, but it didn't stop him from worrying.

"Plus, she's surrounded by people who love her. Daddy always said that love is the greatest healer."

If Daryl hadn't discovered that truth from his own experience, he would have dismissed the girl as being naive. But he was a changed man because of love. Nevertheless, he wasn't convinced that everyone had loving feelings towards Carol. He still had to deal with Tyreese.

And then there was the issue of her memory. Carol hadn't remembered what happened to Sophia. He wasn't even sure if she knew it was him last night.

"What if she don't remember us?" he asked doubtfully.

"Then we help her to remember."

"I hope you're right. Your father said it might be a while before we know for sure."

"Don't give up, Daryl. She's here now. There's always hope as long as you believe in her."

The girl was smarter than he gave her credit for. "Don't plan to," he maintained. "Dixons don't give up."

The bowl was full of berries now. Unable to resist temptation, Beth took one off the top and popped it into her mouth.

"Mmm," she said. "They're so sweet. Carol's really gonna like 'em."

"You think so?"

Beth smiled and nodded her head. Daryl reached over and plucked a berry out of the bowl.

"Damn, that is good," he agreed after he tossed it in his mouth. He reached for a couple more and quickly ate them.

Beth turned and started towards the gate.

"Beth, hold up. I wanna check on those snares before we head back."

"Okay," she agreed and followed Daryl through the trees.

"Bingo!" Daryl called as he spotted a large, dead rabbit caught in the trap.

He worked quickly to remove it before he reset the snare and moved on to the next one. After all the snares were checked and found empty, Daryl and Beth headed back inside with their bounty.

As they passed the guard tower, Tyreese called after him. "Daryl!"

Daryl groaned to himself as he stopped and looked over his shoulder. He saw Tyreese jogging towards him.

"I heard you found Carol. How is she?" Tyreese inquired as he quickly caught up to him.

"Not good," Daryl said tersely shaking his head. He wanted to avoid a long conversation. As if to emphasize this, he looked Tyreese right in the eye.

"What happened?"

"Somethin' that never shoulda," he uttered before walking away without another word. He didn't want to get into it with Tyreese. In fact, he didn't want to talk about it at all. With anyone. Some things were better left unsaid. He didn't want to have to imagine any of it. He'd seen enough.

Tyreese just stood there, even more confused, watching as Daryl followed Beth back up towards the prison.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to keep you waiting for this installment. I took a much needed hiatus over the summer. I love being outdoors and it was too hard to stay inside by my computer. Thank you for your patience, but more importantly, for all of your reviews, follows and favorites. It really does keep me going.

He had barely walked through the doorway when he heard Carol screaming.

"Get away from me!"

Frantically, he dropped the rabbit and tore down the stairs, nudging himself past Beth and into the cellblock with his crossbow drawn instinctually. When he approached the cell he saw Carol collapsed in a heap on the floor, and Hershel was trying unsuccessfully to help her up. Carol swung her arms out protectively against him. He wobbled on his prosthetic leg and stumbled backwards, landing harshly on his backside.

"Daddy!" Beth called out as she watched Hershel fall.

Still trying to focus, Carol's eyes shifted rapidly from the old man on the floor, to the blond girl with the ponytail. She hesitated.  _A girl?_  Carol felt the thought graze in a shadowy corner of her mind. When her eyes saw the second man approaching, holding what appeared to be a gun, her eyes grew wide and she scooted herself backwards and made herself as small as possible. The angry voice in her head was murmuring, _he'll kill you. He'll kill you!_

Beth made to go help her father, but Daryl put his arm out to stop her. Lowering his crossbow to the floor and leaning it against the cell bars, he cursed himself for making Carol more terrified. Hershel pushed himself up into a seated position a little too quickly. Carol caught the motion and pulled herself in more tightly.

Daryl saw her curl protectively into a rigid ball. The wretched sounds of her whimpering slashed at his heart.

"Hey, hey, s'okay. S'okay." He bent down onto his knees in the doorway of the cell, keeping a good distance from her, and showing her his empty hands. "Ain't nobody here gonna hurt you."

 _That voice._ The thought began to scratch at the dark film encasing her mind, trying to uncover something recognizable. There had been a man with her before. He gave her some water. But then, someone was hurting her, holding her down. Almost immediately, her stomach twisted as the fear washed over her and took control.  _No! No! No!_  Struggling, she shook her head to dislodge the memory.

"S'okay, jus' breathe. You're okay. Can you take a breath with me? C'mon."

Daryl took a large, deep breath and then exhaled fully. He kept repeating it until he saw Carol take an effortful breath. "That's it."

The blood was hammering in her ears, but the tightness in her chest began to loosen as she breathed. This man was trying to help her, she realized.

"Yeah, jus' like that," he kept encouraging her. "Good."

Soon, her breathing returned to normal. Her body relaxed slightly.

"You hungry?"

Her eyes grew wide as she anxiously nodded her head.

Daryl looked over at Beth and signaled with his hand for the bowl she was holding.

"We jus' picked you some blackberries," he said to Carol.

"They're real sweet," Beth added as she stepped towards Daryl. "Think you'll like 'em." She handed Daryl the bowl of berries.

Daryl extended the bowl towards Carol. With trembling, tentative hands, she reached for it. As her fingers enclosed the bowl, her arms began to shake.

"You got it?"

She nodded her head without taking her eyes off Daryl. He let go of the bowl, and she brought it under her nose and sniffed. The faint smell of berries warmed by the sun rose up to meet her. She held the bowl in one shaky hand as she used the other to pick out a berry. Cautiously, she felt the spongy bumps along the outside of the berry before she put it into her mouth. As she bit down on the berry, its sweet juice covered her tongue and ran down her throat. Her eyes lit up at the taste. Hungrily, she began to stuff berries into her mouth.

"Slowly. We ain't gonna take 'em away from you. There's more if you want 'em."

Carol had only eaten a few handfuls before she felt full and placed the bowl on the ground near her. But her fingers and chin were stained purple from the berry juice. Daryl pulled the rag from his back pocket and handed it to her. She looked at him quizzically, but finally accepted it, wiping at her lips and fingers.

A long silence filled the space between them.

"You've been injured. You have a concussion and some broken ribs. Are you having any trouble seeing?" Hershel asked her.

Carol, still wide-eyed, nodded her head.

"You're probably also feeling dizzy. You fell out of the bed. I was trying to help you back up. The bed is right there to your left."

Cautiously, Carol turned her head to the left and explored the blurry bed with her hand before quickly returning her gaze to the figures before her.

"Are you in any pain? We have medicine."

Carol nodded her head again. There was a stabbing pain every time she tried to breathe.

"The medicine is in that bottle on the table there beside you. Do you see it?" Hershel asked.

Carol glanced at the table and nodded when she saw it.

"Take one or two pills every four to six hours."

Carol reached for the bottle, but her aim was off and she knocked it off the table. It clattered to the ground and rolled towards Hershel.

"Why don't you let me help you with that," he said reaching for the bottle.

He opened the bottle and shook two pills into his palm. Extending his hand slowly, he offered them to her. Carol hesitantly reached for the pills and then the water bottle that he held out to her. After taking them, she sipped liberally from the metal container.

"Keep drinking throughout the day. You were very dehydrated," he told her. After Carol took another sip, he continued. "Now, those pills should start to work shortly. In the meantime I have a few questions. Do you remember your name?"

She nodded. "Carol," she said timidly.

"Carol, do you remember who I am?"

There was only that distant chafing in the back corner of her mind, buried under layers of thick fog. She couldn't remember. She shook her head.

"How about this girl?" he asked, pointing to Beth.

She looked at the girl. Something about her made Carol's chest ache. She was trying to remember. It was something important.

A shadow fell across her eyes. Her gaze wandered from Beth and became distant.

 _The girl, the girl._  Carol squeezed her eyes shut as faded bits of memories trickled into her mind. The sound of girlish laughter echoed in the darkness. Then, a bright grin flashed in her mind. There was a smattering of freckles appearing on her nose and cheeks. She saw her warm, chestnut brown hair flying whimsically as she jumped rope in the driveway.

_Sophia._

Avoiding the question, Carol opened her eyes and looked around, searching for her. Her breath quickened again.

Where was she?

"Sophia?" she called out in her confusion.

Something wasn't right. Beth turned to look at Daryl. He met her eyes before finding Hershel's. No one knew what exactly to say in that moment.

"Carol," Hershel began.

Carol's eyes filled with tears when there was no response to her call. Her stomach filled with a sickening dread. "Sophia!" she shouted again more urgently. "Is she- is she here?" Her desperate eyes scanned the others for a speck of hope.

"Carol, you've been in an accident," Hershel continued, his voice cracking with grief. "You hit your head. It's affected your memories. I think you may have amnesia."

She shook her head. It couldn't be true.  _Can't be._  But in some awful way, it felt true. Her baby was gone.  _Gonegonegone._  She knew it. The tears fell from her eyes with abandon. She couldn't stop it. She collapsed in on herself, painfully sobbing.

Suddenly, it was happening before her eyes. A grotesquely distorted image of Sophia was stumbling in front of a barn. She was wearing that blue T-shirt with the rainbow on it that Carol had bought her when she had won the school spelling bee. But the shirt was dirty and torn now. Carol was laying in the dirt, but she couldn't move, she couldn't reach her. "Sophia." She heard a loud bang that startled her, and then her Sophia was falling to the ground, lifeless.  _Gone._

"She's gone," she sobbed, "she's gone."

"I'm sorry you had to remember that," Hershel said softly after a while. "But it's a good sign that your memories could return."

It was too much to bear. The pain was overwhelming. And almost as quickly as she fell apart, a shadow crept in, pressing her fears, memories and all, down into the murky depths of her mind. The silence was deafening as the others watched the distress in Carol's face suddenly shift into a oddly calm visage. They looked at each other unsure of what to say or do next.

"Do you remember this man?" Hershel asked Carol as he pointed to Daryl, hoping the sight of her lover would help her to recall something more pleasant.

"His voice. It's, um. He was- he gave me water. I think," she said, uncertain of her memories. Everything was so foggy. He had been kind to her, hadn't he? He wasn't trying to hurt her. She began slowly rocking herself. It was distressing not being able to clearly remember.

Daryl nodded at her. A chill blew down his spine as he recalled her panic the night before.  _That's all she remembers?_ he thought worriedly to himself. His chest grew tighter. He couldn't comfort her the way he wanted to.

"Why?" Carol asked, shaking her head as she looked at the others. Her face was wet and the tears began to surge from her eyes once again. "I don't understand. Why are you being so nice to me?" She tightened into herself, growing smaller.

Daryl shot a glance at Hershel.

"It's what we do," Daryl said softly, returning his gaze to her. "We take care of each other."

"But- but- but you don't even kn-know me," she said meekly as another tear slid down her cheek.

"Sure we do," Beth affirmed sweetly.

Carol shook her head. She didn't know these people. She started getting nervous again. "How?" she asked in disbelief.

She shook her head rapidly and started mumbling to herself.

"No, no, no. It's not. It's not possible. It's not!"

Daryl and Hershel exchanged glances again.

"Carol," Hershel said softly to get her attention. "I know it must be very strange and confusing. But you can't remember us, I think, because you have a head injury. The thing to remember now, is that you are safe."

"Are- are you m-my doctor?" she asked Hershel hopefully. Maybe that was how she knew him.

"Sort of," Hershel admitted plainly.

"He's the closest thing we got," Daryl added.

Sensing her increased anxiety Hershel turned to his daughter and asked, "Beth, honey, will you start heating up the water? Maybe Carol would like some of that tea we talked about."

"Yes, Daddy."

After Beth left, Carol looked at Hershel questioningly. "She's your daughter?"

"She is," he declared proudly.

Carol didn't understand why his confirmation suddenly made her feel safer. Her shoulders relaxed and she uncurled herself slightly.

"She's very pretty. Sweet. You must be very proud," Carol stated with a reserved smile.  _Just like my Sophia._

"I am," Hershel smiled back.

Carol felt a pain in her heart as if a part of her was missing. The emptiness was all-consuming. She understood the reason for it now. She used the rag the younger man had given her to wipe at her face.

"Carol, what is the last thing you remember before Daryl, here, gave you the water?" Hershel inquired with a calm concern.

She stilled her hands in her lap and tilted her head to ponder his question. A memory of her running through a patch of trees flickered like a silent film behind her eyes. She felt her heart quicken.  _I have to run. I have to hide._  Then her eyes grew dark and wide with fear. She froze as a darkness descended across her face. Her mind went completely blank, and she stared off like a deer caught in headlights.

She was unresponsive for several minutes despite Hershel's attempts to get her attention.

Daryl's worry twisted in his gut. "Carol!"

He started to move towards her, but Hershel stopped him. "I wouldn't get any closer to her," he warned.

"Why? What the hell's happenin'?"

Hershel waved his hand in front of Carol's eyes. She didn't respond or even blink. "I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?" Daryl became agitated as his fear grew.

"I'm sorry if that's not very comforting to hear," Hershel said regretfully, casting Daryl a sympathetic glance, "but this is a bit outside my area of expertise, son. She appears to be in shock of some sort. Likely brought on by stress. I think the pressure of remembering is too much for her to manage right now. So we shouldn't push her to. I need to consult some of those psychiatry books from the infirmary. For now, we need to let her rest." He turned back to Carol and tried to get her attention. "Carol, can you hear me? Carol?"

As if through a thick fog, Hershel's voice finally reached her and pulled her out of her daze. She turned her head toward the sound of his voice. "Yes?" she asked meekly, as if no time had passed and nothing out of the ordinary had transpired.

"Would it be okay if we got you back into the bed?" Hershel asked her, abandoning his previous line of questioning. "I'm concerned about your injuries. You need to rest so you can heal, and with your vision the way it is, I think it would be safer for you to stay there for the time being."

"Okay," she agreed readily.

Daryl watched as Hershel struggled to pull himself up into a standing position. "Here, let me help you," Daryl said as he offered the man his hand.

"Thank you," Hershel replied as he stood.

Gently, the two lifted Carol and sat her on the edge of the bed. She sank her fingers into the mattress as if to confirm where she was.

"Thank you," she said nervously.

Beth appeared with a cup of hot tea, which she offered to Carol.

"What's this?" Carol inquired.

"Just a cup of herbal tea to help calm your nerves," Hershel reassured her. "You've been through quite an ordeal. You just focus on relaxing now."

"Careful, it's still hot," Beth warned as Carol timidly reached for the cup.

Carol inhaled the tea's aroma gently before she took a cautious sip. She immediately pulled her head back at the taste. "Oh, it's bitter," she said with a look of surprise on her face.

"I know. I'm sorry," Beth apologized. "We don't have any honey right now."

Daryl made a note to make sure to remedy that. He reflected on the time that he had found a beehive on one of the local farms while on a hunting trip. His hand and forearm had swollen up where the bees had stung him, but he thought it was worth the added pain and discomfort for the arresting smile and kiss on his cheek Carol gave him when he handed her the bottle of honey. He made her swear she wouldn't share it with the others.

"Careful," she had teased him with a wink, "or I'm gonna think you're sweet on me."

"There are worse things you could think about me," he had playfully wagered despite the warm flush growing on his face from his obvious transparency.

"As if," she had grinned widely.

As he watched Carol cautiously drink the tea, Daryl rubbed at the spot on his cheek where her lips had graced his skin, reminding himself of their connection. She had known him so well, sometimes better than he had known himself. And it hurt now, after all the things they'd shared together, that she could not remember him at all. He was missing his best friend terribly and would have given anything to be the brunt of her teasing banter once again.

Strangely, Carol hadn't questioned their location or why there were bars on the door. Daryl noted that she either didn't seem concerned that they were living in a prison, or she hadn't noticed. He knew she was having problems with her vision. With Beth's help, they were able to orient Carol to the prison's fairly primitive amenities. But the trip to the bathroom tired her out, and she slept the rest of the morning.

* * *

The sound of a door slamming shut nearby startled Carol awake from a restless sleep. Her chest and body ached as the pain gripped her. Her stomach felt tight and empty. Her vision, while still blurry, was a little more clear than it had been earlier. Warm light from the afternoon sun was filtering into the dismal room that looked strangely like a prison cell. Whispering voices faded in and out, but she couldn't tell where they were coming from. The fear began to percolate as the bile from her stomach burned in her throat, and she began to tremble. She was being held captive.

An image of having her wrists bound as she lay face down in the dirt quickly flooded her mind. But it wasn't simply a memory, it felt as if it was really happening to her. She could taste the earth on her tongue as she gasped for air. Frightened, she knitted her hands together and felt along her wrists. She found only bandages. The skin beneath them was tender. She didn't know what was happening to her or where she was.

Then, her recollection of the earlier interaction she had came slowly back to her. There were two kindly men and a teenage girl that were trying to help her. She wanted to believe she was with them. They had made her feel safe and took away the pain that was constantly cutting into her.  _We take care of each other._

"I'm here," she whispered to herself as she slid her fingers across the thin cotton sheets on the mattress. "I'm here _." There is no dirt._

"No dirt," she echoed quietly, willing it to be so as she relaxed into the softness of the mattress beneath her. Her chest ached as she drew a long breath in and released it.

 _"_ You've been in an accident _,_ " she repeated the words to herself reassuringly. She rubbed her fingers back and forth across the cool fabric. "You hit your head. You just can't remember."

 _You can't!_  The command came urgently from within.

Vigilantly, she scanned the room as her fingers pressed firmly into the soft mattress. She wasn't sure what she was looking for, but she needed  _something_. She felt vulnerable, and the urge to hide was overwhelming. Her eyes fell on the amber pill bottle sitting next to the bowl of berries on the table beside her.

She hesitated as she made her choice, but her hunger won out. She reached for the bowl and polished off the remaining berries in hastily successive fistfuls. Satisfied for the moment, she wiped the back of her hand against her lips and put the bowl back on the table, letting her eyes linger once again on the amber bottle.

"Medicine."

The morning's events were the only clear memories coming to mind. She grabbed the bottle and fumbled with the lid until it finally opened.

"One, two." She counted out the pills into her hand and set the bottle back on the table. She reached for the water bottle, but it was heavier than she anticipated and fell from her grasp. It hit the ground with a clanking sound and rolled away. She froze.

She didn't hear any footsteps, but suddenly there was a figure standing in the doorway.

"Y'alright?"

"Daryl?" She half-whispered his name uncertainly. She wasn't sure of anything.

"Yeah, it's me. Y'okay? You look spooked."

"I-I," she stammered but couldn't continue.

When she didn't respond right away, he looked more closely at her. There was a streak of purple where berry juice had run down her chin. The bowl that held the berries lay empty on the table beside her. At one time, he might have chuckled at her, and she might have played along, innocently batting her eyes at him, encouraging him to preen her. For a long while, he had felt like he needed a reason to touch her, and she had quickly caught onto his game. She would purposefully act careless and clumsy around him, leaving some little bit of herself out of place, making her look anything but perfectly tidy. It started out simply: forgotten bits of food or drink at her lips, a neglected bit of dust on her sweater, a streak of grime on her face, an errant leaf in her hair. She never rejected his attempts to groom her, never swatted his hands away, never made him think it wasn't okay to touch her. She was patient with him. And he learned that he didn't really need a reason. She wanted him to touch her, to show his affection for her. So he began to playfully nudge her with his shoulder when she teased him, to gently touch her arm to get her attention, and eventually, he began holding her hand when they spent time alone just walking along the perimeter or sitting together at night in her cell sharing stories about Sophia and Merle. It soothed him. Eventually, she stepped up the game and started to trip over her own two feet to lose her balance, so that he would have no choice but to reach out and catch her. He knew she wasn't that clumsy and that she was trying to make it easy for him to get closer. But he didn't want her to stop because he enjoyed playing the game too much. She kept him on his toes, eagerly waiting for the next intimate moment. Once he had her in his arms, the pause before he released her would stretch out longer and longer each time, until he would wrap his arms more tightly around her and let his nose linger in the scent of her skin. Soon it was hard to simply be apart from her. Whereas he used to feel stiff and uncomfortable around her, gradually he discovered that he couldn't actually relax unless he had her close and he knew she was safe. When he'd go on a run or out hunting, he never truly felt he had returned until he had seen her face and she had greeted him, arms opened, welcoming the embrace he wanted to give her. He wasn't home until he smelled her.  _She_  was his home. He began to settle into the comfortable rhythm of their togetherness. At the end of the day, they would sit in her cell working quietly together, her mending their tattered clothes and him sharpening their knives. Sometimes they would swap stories of the daily events and sometimes they both just enjoyed the comfortable silence that would fall between them like a warm blanket as they finished the remainder of their chores. He cherished those moments of peaceful coexistence. Theirs was a simple love. And it was more than he ever hoped for.

But in this moment, he was too worried about her general state to even think about teasing her. She was a broken shell of the woman he knew. It was no laughing matter, and he couldn't just reach out and touch her to soothe her fears. Or his own. He was a stranger to her now, and he needed to keep the uncomfortable distance between them to protect her, soothing himself only by the sight of her. She was safe now. It was the only thing that mattered to him.

Letting go of his own pain, his eyes continued to study her. He saw the pills in her hand and then found the water bottle on the floor in the middle of the cell.

"You need water?" he gently asked.

She stared at him like a frightened doe and didn't say anything.

"S'okay. I can get it for you," he told her, moving slowly toward her to pick it up. He unscrewed the lid before handing the bottle to her.

He seemed to sense her discomfort and kept his distance. For that, she was grateful.

"Thank you," she said quietly, without meeting his eyes. She felt ashamed for being so clumsy and needing his help. But he didn't seem to mind it.

Carol quickly put the pills in her mouth and took a long sip of water.

"Need anythin' else? More berries maybe? We got peas, too," he smiled at her.

She liked that his voice was soft and kind. It seemed to settle her nerves. Shyly, her eyes went down to the bowl, and she blushed, covering her mouth in embarrassment for the way she had eagerly consumed the berries earlier. She shook her head.

"I'll let you rest then." He turned to leave.

"Stay," she pleaded almost inaudibly. She was afraid to be left alone.

The single word was music to his ears. "You sure?"

She nodded.

He sat down on the floor of the cell with his back against the door. She didn't need to say another word. He wasn't going anywhere. There wasn't anywhere he would rather be. He would wait there as long as she needed him.

It was his turn to be patient.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all your support for this story! I really love reading your reviews and PMs, they keep me going! It's wonderful that you keep checking up on me and keep me on task. I feel so loved! And please know, that I do channel all those good vibes into my writing, even when I'm making you cry.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter. There is a little bit of a time shift at the beginning. We go back in time a few hours. Hope it's not confusing. As always, please let me know what you think/feel. It really means more to me than I can possibly tell you. -jb

* * *

"Do you think she knows?" Beth inquired in a hushed tone with a worried look on her face. "You know, about the Turn?"

The somber mood of the group quickly grew darker. After Carol had fallen asleep that morning, they had gathered in the cellblock's vestibule to quietly discuss the gravity of her situation. Having finished her shift on watch, Maggie had come in shortly afterwards and joined them.

Daryl grimaced as his stomach soured. "Dunno. But if she don't... goes outside... sees those walkers clustering at the fence... Ain't no tellin' how she'll take it." He shook his head, not wanting to imagine it. A witness to her earlier behavior, he knew she was too emotionally fragile to handle any more stress. She was barely holding it together, and it was eating him up from the inside. "Can't let her."  _Ain't gonna let her fall apart._

"That's not gonna be so easy when she's able to walk on her own. We can't make her feel like a prisoner, either," Maggie declared adamantly, feeling uneasy as the not-too-distant memory of her brief captivity with the Governor crept into mind. She crossed her arms in front of her chest to shield herself and prevent the feeling from taking over altogether. Still, the terror of it rushed icily up her spine.

The color in Daryl's face drained. "You think she still won't remember by then?" He began to worry at the skin around his thumbnail with his teeth.

Hershel placed a comforting hand on Daryl's shoulder. "We have to tolerate a fair amount of uncertainty here. I know that isn't easy, considering. But there are just too many factors involved."

He turned to Maggie, acknowledging her concern. "So, we'll cross  _that_  bridge if we come to it."

"In the meantime," he said, turning back to address the group, his face impressed with concern, "no visitors. It's a precaution." He released his hand from Daryl's shoulder. "Carol doesn't know any of us. I think we need to minimize that stress by limiting our interactions with her. Let her adjust to the three of us first," he waved his hand in a gesture indicating Beth, Daryl, and himself, "or we might overwhelm her."

"Agreed," Daryl quickly stated, releasing his thumb from his mouth. He didn't want anyone near her. Tyreese was already probing for information, adding to his paranoia. "She don't need nobody snoopin' 'round."

"Lizzie and Mika are askin' about her. What do we tell them?" Maggie inquired.

"The  _truth_ ," Daryl stressed. "That she ain't herself and needs time to recover."

"We'll need to hold a council meeting," Hershel reminded them. "Make a public announcement so everyone is clear."

"Jus' what they need to know," Daryl issued protectively. "They don't gotta hear every damn detail."

The anguish was bleakly engraved on Daryl's face. The simple notion of having to explain what happened to Carol was too unsettling. It was one thing to bear the knowledge of what occurred, but quite another to articulate it. What happened to her was unspeakable. And those images of her prone body on the trailer floor kept intruding into his mind, making it impossible to forget.

"You'll get no arguments there, son."

"What about Judith?" Beth asked. "We can't keep her a secret. Carol's gonna hear her cry eventually."

"Ain't much we can do about that," Daryl replied, sounding both agitated and resigned. He knew it would be too much to ask Rick to move into the other cellblock, even though Daryl preferred not to be around him. He didn't want to ask for any favors or rely on the man for anything. Seeing his contrite face was more than Daryl could stand. It was just another reminder of the tragic irreversibility of the whole damn situation.

"It might make her feel a little safer to know about the baby," Hershel contemplated the circumstances. "Carl. The other children."

"She ain't ready to be around any kids," Daryl argued, trying to keep his voice down, but he couldn't keep the irritation from his voice altogether. "Christ! You saw her! She's just barely dealin' with the one she lost! Like it just happened to her."

"What I meant was that it might be good for Carol to know that there are others here who want to see her when she  _is_  ready. That there are kids. That we're all family here."

Daryl grunted. He had mixed feelings about their so-called family right now.

"Regardless of what Rick did, she's a part of this family," Beth assured him. "We need to show her, Daryl. We have to."

Daryl narrowed his eyes at her. He knew the girl was right, but he was still apprehensive. It just seemed too simple. Something was bound to go wrong. Sooner or later, it always did.

"Remember what you told me the day Lori died? How Carol had so much hope for the baby?" Maggie turned to Daryl. "Might help her some to see Judith."

"I know Judith certainly misses her," Beth added.

"We know you want to protect Carol," Hershel said. "Just consider the possibility of introducing her to the idea that others live here, so she has time to adjust."

"Damn ambush is what this is," Daryl grumbled sarcastically as he eyed the other three. "Y'all need matchin' hats. The Greene Berets."

He felt outnumbered, but he knew they were well-intentioned. It was starting to make sense to him. Carol was bound to find out about the others, it was only a matter of time. Getting her prepared for that eventuality gave her a chance to handle it more calmly.

Hershel smiled agreeably. "I think we would look quite sophisticated in berets," he joked, taking advantage of the moment to add some levity to their conversation. "I always did like ensemble costumes on Halloween. And it would be less predictable than dressing as a pirate, considering my you-know-what." He knocked his hand against his prosthesis and raised his eyebrows devilishly to accentuate the innuendo.

"Daddy!" Maggie chided him.

Full of mirth, Hershel erupted into a hearty laugh. Sometimes, the old man had a twisted sense of humor. It made Daryl chuckle despite himself.

"You know we want what's best for her, Daryl," Beth sweetly asserted, returning them to the focus of their discussion. "Besides, how can anyone resist Li'l Asskicker's cuteness? Even you're not immune."

_She had to play the kid card._

Daryl half-heartedly scowled at Beth, knowing he couldn't argue her point. From the day she was born, there was nothing he wouldn't do for that baby girl. His resolve continued to crumble.

"Fine," he capitulated gruffly. "I'll think about it." Although he had already made his decision.

"Da-bo! Da-bo!" Maggie excitedly seized the moment, using the moniker Judith had given him to deliberately prod at his weak spot.

Among all the survivors, his was the only name the baby had clearly distinguished. Hearing Judith's nickname for him was the final blow.

"Pfft! Can't help it if I'm her favorite," he boasted, finally softening completely, nudging Maggie in the ribs as he teased her.

Daryl smiled proudly to himself. Saving the baby's life had been a bright moment during that dreadfully dark period after they first took the prison. The multiple losses they had suffered were weighing heavily on everyone. By the time he and Maggie had returned to the prison from the formula run, he could see the apprehension and exhaustion that had sunken into all the waiting faces as the baby screamed out in protestation. Rick had been missing in action since receiving the news of Lori's death. The infant's cries were angry and implacable, as if she were voicing all their collective grief. Gingerly, Daryl had taken her from Carl's flustered arms to offer him some relief. As soon the baby was in his arms, she had looked up at him with curious eyes and ceased her crying momentarily. Immediately, Daryl was struck by her preciousness as he gently rocked her. It was just as Carol had told him—she was truly a gift. Against all odds, the little girl in his arms had struggled hard to survive. She was one of them. A fighter. The best hope for their future. Amazed, he stuck the nipple of the bottle into her mouth and watched her suckle hungrily. A smile of relief and satisfaction had soon spread across his face as he realized his victory.

With the memory of Judith in his arms that day and the hope that had sprung within him from the encounter, Daryl wondered if it might have the same effect on Carol. He wanted her to remember that there was more to life than brutality and grief. He recalled the look of joy that had washed over Carol's face when she first saw the baby, before the grief on Rick's face had registered and she knew Lori hadn't made it. Carol was a fighter, too. She had fought her way through the tombs. She could make it through this, too. Judith could be very helpful and could give Carol something positive to focus on, remind her there were still good things to look forward to.

"Where is she?" he inquired after realizing he hadn't set eyes on Judith's pudgy cheeks since his return. "Ain't heard a peep outta her since we've been back."

"Rick took her with him out to the garden," Beth grinned.

Daryl nodded, uncomfortably shifting his feet. He wanted to see Judith but he wasn't planning on purposely seeking out Rick anytime soon.

Reaching the end of their discussion, Hershel excused himself to track down the books he wanted to examine. Meanwhile, Maggie identified several minor maintenance tasks that helped Daryl stay busy and kept his mind focused. Luckily, there was always something that needed to be done in the prison.

"Could use another set of eyes on the generator, too. It's been shortin' out more lately," she told him when they were finished.

"Go," Beth spoke up when she saw him hesitate. "I'll stay here with her."

He nodded in agreement and followed Maggie to the generator room. It didn't take him long to figure out the battery needed to be replaced.

"We're gonna have to add it to the next supply run," Maggie said.

Daryl agreed. "What happened to the solar installation plan the council voted on?"

Maggie shrugged. "Just been busy I guess. Repairin' the fences took most of our time and resources."

Daryl grunted. He could understand with three of them gone, some things had to take a back seat. And it made him wonder what else had slipped.

"Anythin' else?"

"Someone's still feedin' the walkers. Gotta be doin' it at night. Haven't been enough of us to keep up a night patrol. After you left, Tyreese found a rabbit cut up and pinned to a board. Thinks we got a psychopath on our hands. A couple of days ago, there was another with its throat slit in the courtyard where the kids play sometimes. Lucky that one of them didn't find it."

"We'll talk about the patrols at the meetin' when the others get back. Find who's doin' it before they bring down that fence again."

After they finished in the generator room, he'd left his tools on the table, eager to finally get to the chore of cleaning and preparing the rabbit he'd found that morning. When he was done, he set it aside in a pan on the grill that Sasha was getting ready to fire up for lunch. It had been a large rabbit, but he knew it wasn't very much meat for all of them. Still, it was better than nothing and nobody was complaining.

When Sasha saw Daryl, she smiled, but knew enough from the look on his face not to ask him anything and kept her distance. But he could tell her eyes were filled with questions, so out of gratitude, he told her about the meeting they'd planned when the others returned from the run, promising that they would discuss what was going on with Carol and the need to organize patrols.

After washing his hands, he returned to the cellblock to check on Carol. Beth and Maggie were gathering canned goods and a few other ingredients to add to the rabbit stew. Suddenly, the door slammed shut as Rick and Carl walked in and thundered down the stairs. Rick was holding a sleeping Judith, and Carl was carrying a bowl of peas.

"Hey! Mind that door! Carol's restin'!" Daryl whispered sharply, feeling the tension rise to his chest. He wasn't ready to be in the same room as Rick.

"Sorry," Carl said sheepishly as they approached.

Rick's face grew serious. "How is she?"

Daryl huffed and shook his head. "Ain't like you really care."

Rick's eyes grew glassy as he took the snub. He shifted the weight in his feet as he nodded, understanding the reason for Daryl's anger. Full of remorse, he didn't meet Daryl's eyes as he disputed him. "No, I do."

Daryl glared at him, refusing to believe it. Folding his arms across his chest, he snorted irately, but then pulled his eyes away from Rick to the baby in his arms. She had gotten notably bigger since Daryl had been away. The shock of it twitched on his face and distracted him temporarily from his displeasure.

"Well, she ain't doin' too good."

"When can we see her?" Carl asked hopefully.

"Not just yet, Carl," Maggie stepped in. "Daddy thinks it's best if we don't overwhelm her for a while."

"I won't bother her. I just wanna say hi and welcome her home," he argued with a proud smile, putting the bowl on the table. "Look! The peas are in. I never grew anything from scratch before! She was looking forward to them."

"She don't remember nothin', Carl," Daryl spit out bitterly as the sadness returned to his shoulders. They slumped downward from the weight of the burden. "An' she's off-limits 'til further notice."

"What?" Carl asked in disbelief.

"It's true," Beth said sadly. "She lost her memory. She doesn't remember any of us right now."

Carl looked at Daryl sorrowfully, tears growing in his eyes as he saw the totality of the man's despondency reflected back. "But..."

"Hey, hey," Rick tried to placate his son, reaching his hand to the boy's shoulder.

Rejecting his attempt, Carl shrugged off his father's touch and stormed off to his cell.

"He was excited," Rick explained, wiping the wet guilt from his eyes.

"Give him time," Maggie added, glancing quickly at Daryl. "It's a shock to all of us."

"We have to let the others know," Rick urged them.

Daryl glowered resentfully at the man who seemed eager to be barking orders once again, without stopping to even consider who would be affected by those orders.

Suddenly, there was a clanking sound down the hall, coming from the cell Carol was resting in.

"Don't lose any sleep, we got a plan," Daryl spat derisively at Rick. "Fill 'im in," he directed Maggie and Beth before creeping down the hall to investigate and disappearing into Carol's cell.

* * *

"I dreamt about her," she finally said, breaking the lingering silence.

Carol's voice had startled him, as he'd thought she'd fallen asleep. Daryl almost had, too. With his guard down, his shoulders had gone slack against the bars and his head was nodding against his chest. He sat up more attentively.

He didn't have to ask her who she was talking about.

"I keep seeing her face," Carol continued slowly, recounting every painful detail, "but it's not her face. It's ugly...hateful, almost. And she's coming towards me...snarling...and... full of anger... and I think she's there to punish me... to punish me for being... a- a terrible mother. I-I know this."

She paused, absorbed by her introspection, and then, as if to reinforce the felt truth of it, her voice dropped to nearly a whisper, "I was a terrible mother."

"And I want," she resumed. "I want very much to go to her... receive my penance. But I can't. I can't reach her. And I- I am doomed to walk in hell.  _A hell on earth._ "

Daryl's mind returned to the awful scene at Hershel's barn, recalling the horror affixed to their faces as that little girl staggered out, with pale skin and dead eyes, to everyone's dismay. They had all been paralyzed by the overwhelming shock of it. But Daryl had felt the pain of her loss growing angrily in his gut like a rapidly spreading cancer. It mobilized him just enough to seize a grief-stricken Carol as she impulsively ran by him to get to her daughter. Just evoking the memory of holding her, as she collapsed in her despair, brought the echo of Carol's trembling cries rippling up his arms into his chest and shook him to the core.

Synchronously, the sun moved behind a cloud as he noticed the fresh tears shining on her face, and he went to pull the rag out of his pocket. Cautiously, he extended it to her and shifted awkwardly where he sat while he waited for her to take it.

"You were a good mom," he disagreed, his throat tight with emotion.

Full of guilt, he looked away as he recalled the way he had berated her after Sophia's death. So blinded by his own pain, he'd  _wanted_  to hurt her as he foolishly tried to push her away, so he wouldn't have to care about anyone else. And it still hurt to know how much he had hurt her. While he never laid a hand on her, he had loosed his words at her like poison-tipped bolts from his crossbow. And like the excellent shot that he was, they had found their target easily, cutting deeply into the already tender wound where they continued to maliciously fester.

"You don't  _know_  me," Carol denied crisply, rejecting his attempt to absolve her.

He snapped his head back to her, shocked by her vehemence.

"All I had to do was keep an eye on her!" Her anger was harshly directed inwards like a sharpened dagger.

Daryl cringed at her words. His own treacherous words. It was his fault she blamed herself. The rag hung uselessly in his hand like all his failed attempts to find Sophia. He had never hated himself more. Deeply ashamed, he silently withdrew his paltry offering like an apology. Mere words could never atone for the pain he had caused her.

Her voice softened, growing sad and more distraught as she continued. "She was hiding from...I don't remember. But I remember her face. Clear as day. Oh my god, her face! She was so scared."

Carol became very quiet as the fragments of the memory replayed in her mind. Then her grief grew more acidic. "A mother is supposed to protect her child. But I didn't do that. And she ran. Tried to get away. Away from..."

She shook her head.

"I lost her," she lamented. "I  _failed_  her."

She choked down her tears as if she wasn't worthy of them.

"I'm  _not_  a good person," she went on to explain. "I'm weak." She spat the words disdainfully.

"Ain't true," he scoffed immediately. "'Sides you got amnesia, how would you know if you ain't good?"

She chuckled snidely to herself as she wiped at her eyes and cheeks with the bed sheet. "I may not remember everything. But I can feel it."

"S'just a feelin'. Don't make it true." How many times had he felt like a worthless piece of shit until she had told him otherwise?

She cast him a scrutinizing look. He shrugged at her.

"It don't," he repeated, shaking his head.

"I've done... bad things," she admitted shamefully, folding the sheet over her hands as if to hide them.

"Yeah? Like what?" he challenged her with ingenuous disbelief.

For a fleeting moment, she saw that she was clutching a knife in her hand, and it was dripping with blood. A queasy feeling erupted in her stomach before her mind went blank.

Daryl saw her consider his question for a moment, twisting the sheet nervously until a vacant look appeared in her eyes and her hands stilled. It was as if she suddenly wasn't there at all.

 _Shit_. He felt the panic rise to his chest as he jolted upright.  _Why the hell you ask that for, asshole?_  he reproached himself. His face scrunched up with worry. "Carol?"

She didn't answer.

_Shit. Shit. Shit._

She sat there as if she was set in stone for what Daryl thought was several minutes. Each moment that passed he became increasingly disconcerted. When he couldn't take another moment of her eerie silence, Daryl scrambled to his knees and crawled closer to her catatonic frame.

"Carol?" He tried again.

She blinked her eyes and was thrown into a fright when she noticed Daryl had suddenly appeared by her side. With her blood running cold, she immediately pushed herself into the corner and shivered.

"M'sorry. Didn't mean to scare you," he said, sitting back on his heels. "You just-" he stopped, uncertain how to explain what he just saw.  _You left me._

Terrified, Carol watched as he sat back away from her. She felt the disquiet roll though her belly. It had been on the tip of her tongue. Something close to a memory. She could taste its importance. But she wasn't certain she wanted to know what it was.

Feeling exposed, she submerged herself under the covers, drawing her knees up to her chest, pulling the sheet up around her like a shield. Her eyes remained vigilantly on Daryl. She didn't know what was happening to her.

"Please!"

Once again, Daryl felt her timorous request slice through him. All the air in his lungs escaped, leaving him breathless as he stared at her helplessly. She was so frightened, it scared him. Rendered completely inert, he could only maintain his painful gaze as he drew in an uneven breath.

He studied her as she continued to grow smaller and more distant, like she was floating away from him. He wanted to go to her, wrap her in his arms, anchor her to him so that she would know she was safe.

But he knew the more that he advanced on her, the more she would retreat. Nervously, he curled his fingers into his palms to keep himself from reaching out to her. His mind raced with all the things he wanted to tell her, the things she needed to know. But he was worried that he would say the wrong thing again. He chewed on his lip as he carefully considered his next move.

"Hey, I know you're scared. You don't remember shit about us. Makes sense. It's probably the smart thing to do. Keepin' your guard up. It's how we survive. I know that feelin'... Felt that way my whole life. Almost." He paused as he began reflecting about how different he'd been before the Turn.

"See, before I met these people here, before I knew  _you_... Way before we all became a family, most of us were strangers. I was real scared then, too. An' if you had tol' me not be... I probably woulda run. Hell," he half chuckled, "I  _wanted_  to. I didn't know there could be good people. But you were lookin' out for me, like you always do, an' somehow, you just knew what I was thinkin'. So you stopped me. I think, it's 'cause you an' me, we're the same inside.

"So if you need to be scared, that's alright. I know I ain't gonna hurt you. That none o' these people here gonna hurt you. 'Cause they're your family an' they care about you. An' now it's my turn to look out for you. Ain't nobody gonna hurt you, Carol. Not on my watch.

"An' maybe you'll see. Like I did finally. That there are some people here you can trust. Jus' gotta give it time."

She tried to listen to his earnest speech. His voice was comforting, the sound of it almost familiar, and it lulled her into a sort of trance. And while the man seemed sincere, something inside Carol rejected what he was saying. She couldn't trust it.  _It wasn't real._

_Family!_

She didn't have any family. She had no one.

And as she listened, his voice became distorted and far away. Like she wasn't really there. Like she was dreaming. She became adrift in another world—a dangerous place in which she knew she was completely alone. No, he was just a clever trick of her imagination. A fantasy. Her mind's way of creating a safe place. But there wasn't any.  _Not anymore_.

She was in hell.

The violent images had taken root in her brain and she couldn't release them. There had been blood. A lot of it.  _All over_. It felt like she was floating on a sea of blood and absolute carnage. Everywhere she looked she saw red.  _Redredredredred._  There was a  _knife_  in her hand.

" _He'll kill you!_ " A voice shouted at her.

She dropped the knife and tried to hide herself.

"I'm a monster," she confessed.

But the voices wouldn't be fooled and continued to taunt her.

_"Stupid bitch!"_

_"You'll get what you deserve!"_

Her eyes darted around the room, searching for the source of the voices. She saw the man again, sitting nearby with a look of disgust on his face.

_He knows._

Disturbed by her behavior, a crease formed between Daryl's eyebrows as he watched Carol scan the room warily, until her eyes stilled on the cell bars. Instantly, they grew wider as if acknowledging something for the first time.

"I'm in jail," she said to orient herself.

It was a statement not a question. As if she had accepted it as confirmation of an inherent badness. Like she  _deserved_  it.

"What? Hell no," Daryl dismissed her declaration, sitting up on his knees. "Ain't tryin' to keep you  _in_. The bars are for your protection. Door stays open unless you want it closed. It's safe."

"Safe?" she doubted.  _Nowhere's safe._

Daryl wasn't sure it was working. He was trying to do what Hershel had suggested earlier, to introduce her to the idea that there were others living here. But it didn't seem to be going very well. Maybe he was going about it all wrong.

"This is our home," he sincerely repeated her own words to her, hoping she would feel the truth of them.

"You live here?"

"Same as you. You ain't a prisoner here."

"I don't understand. Why do we live... in a prison?"

"Ain't safe out in the world no more. So, we live here."

_Nowhere's safe._

Her eyes grew wide as she contracted, pulling her limbs in more tightly to her body. "W-why do we need a prison to be s-safe?"

The question put him on edge. He bit his lip, uncertain he should continue. "Carol, I'm not—"

"What aren't you telling me?" she interrupted, her voice growing pressured.

He was fucking it all up, making it worse. Wasn't that just like him? He sighed, frustrated by his own inadequacy.

"You're safe now. With your family. That's all that matters." It was all he could manage. Afraid to upset her more, he didn't see how telling her the truth could be very helpful. She was barely hanging on as it was. If he told her anymore, he might push her over the edge. He couldn't.

Carol retreated even more, burying herself under the covers. She was certain he was hiding something.

"There's nowhere safe," she muttered.

He frowned when he saw her withdraw completely from him. But he let her go, hoping she'd find some respite and fall asleep, believing she was better off left in the dark a little longer about their predicament. Until she was ready to hear more, he wouldn't push her. He'd have to go slow.

Snorting a breath, he almost laughed at himself with bitter derision. The irony of the whole situation wasn't lost on him. It made him hang his head in shame.

All that time with her he'd selfishly wasted. His need to take things at a snail's pace, hiding from his feelings, scared to admit the truth—to himself, to her, to everyone. His need to be certain that she wouldn't reject him. That she felt the same way. He had been so afraid of how alive she made him feel, terrified of the power she unknowingly had over him. The love he felt for Carol had been so new—so strange and wonderfully unexpected—he hadn't wanted to taint its sacredness by opening it up to ridicule by the others. He had needed to explore what was growing between them privately, so he could work out, in his own way, what it all meant to him. But putting his own needs first had backfired. He had only thought of himself and his stupid pride. And really, when he considered this, hadn't it been  _his_  cowardice that led to her banishment because he waited too damn long to stand more overtly by her side?

More than anything, he wanted to turn back the hands of time, to claim her openly and without any reservations, and embrace her fully with his entire being for the whole world to see. He wanted to celebrate his love for her, to boldly shout it from the guard tower for all to hear. He wanted to be so blatantly obvious about it that there would be no doubt in her mind how much he loved her. So no matter what happened, whatever mistakes she thought she'd made, she would know, definitively, that she wasn't alone.

He was brazenly hers.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Sorry to keep you waiting so long for this one. I try to make it worth it. Hope you agree. I also hope you know I'd get these out sooner if I could. It's nearly a year later from when I started this dark journey and I feel like I'm just getting into the heart of things. Almost. Thanks so much for your patience and your sweet words of encouragement. Your support means the world to me and helps me keep at it. Love you all! -jb

* * *

Cicadas were droning on in the oppressive Georgia heat as Daryl approached the sad house that he grew up in with trepidation. Not the one he had lived in when his mom was alive; no, it was the dilapidated one he'd lived in after she'd gone and burned herself down to nothing. Erased herself from his life. It was the cold and lonely one that he had been trapped in alone with his mean drunk of a daddy, who ruled like a tyrant from his dumpster throne in the living room. The shack with the depressed front porch and crumbling foundation that seemed to want to collapse under the weight of the grief that lived within.

The door opened with a haunting creak when Daryl pushed it. His breath shortened as he took a miserable step inside. Light seemed to abandon the dreary space; it was full of shadows that distended along the walls like claws poised to strike. The air was steeped with apprehension, reeking of old moonshine and stale tobacco which bled from the filthy walls that closed around him like a vise. He felt the pressure building in his chest, making it hard for him to breathe. Hairs on the back of his neck bristled with unpleasant anticipation as the drumming in his ears beat at a deafening pace. A peculiar, narrow hallway stretched out endlessly with rows of imposing doors spanning the length of it. Every door was shut tight against prying eyes. By rote, he opened the door to his bedroom and saw Carol lying there on the rickety wooden floor. Stripped raw and violated. Muddy feet bound. Hands tied behind her back and chained to a cement block. His breath was pulled violently from him, leaving him doubled over in agony. Sharply, her eyes opened in alarm as he noticed her. At the exact same time, the floor began to crack and splinter as it gave away beneath her. To his horror, her body went tumbling into a dark pool of water and began to rapidly sink into its murky depths. The grief tore through his chest in a violent explosion as he screamed out her name. Unhinged, he flung himself towards her, but smacked into an invisible barrier which prevented him from entering the room. No matter how hard he banged his fists or threw himself against it, he couldn't break through. He couldn't reach her. All he could do was watch helplessly as she sank into the mire, her blue eyes wild with fear.

_"Please!"_

Her urgent, disembodied voice cried out, and he ran down the hallway, chasing after it like a ghost. Frantically, he tried door after door, but each time was the same. He saw her battered face, her perfect porcelain face, ruined. Her desperate eyes silently begging him. She was drowning and he was completely powerless to stop it.

It was Michonne who woke him. They had made it back from the run just before daybreak. As she crept in towards her cell, she had heard him whimpering in his sleep.

Disoriented and drenched in sweat, he called out in agony as he woke, a seizing pain in his chest. "Carol!" he gasped as his arm reached out into the darkness.

"She's alright," Michonne reassured him softly, grasping his trembling hand. "She's asleep."

"She ain't alright," he disagreed with a surly tone, jerking his hand away from her as he scrambled to sit up.

Immediately, he scurried closer to the bunk so that he could see Carol for himself. Only once he confirmed that she was indeed lying there in the shadows, sleeping soundly, could he take a breath. But the tight feeling in his chest didn't leave. Instead, it pressed on him from all sides, drawing out his fears, stretching him tautly until his anger was as sharp as a razor's edge.

"You wanna talk about it?"

Sometimes the question worked with Daryl, but Michonne could tell from the seething look he flashed her in warning and his aggressive posturing that it wouldn't this time. He was riled up and ready to pounce—she just needed to let him be.

Daryl refused to talk about the nightmare. Talking about it meant visualizing the repulsive scene again. He had no control over what he dreamed, but he wouldn't waste a conscious moment dwelling on it. Pushing it down, he armed himself in his murderous rage instead.

"What do you fuckin' think!" he hissed, releasing a string of curses under his breath.

He'd been up most of the night with Carol, who slept fitfully. The tea Beth had brewed kept Carol calm during her waking hours, but didn't seem to be as effective in helping her sleep through the night. Like him, Carol didn't talk much about the nightmares. But he didn't need her to; he knew what she was dreaming about. He could see the pain engraved into every feature of her face, leaving it a mask of torturing regret. Daryl knew that the loss of Sophia was weighing heavily on her, and she seemed to disintegrate under the burden of it, retreating into some fractured corner of herself. Unreachable. Daryl never had much use for faith, but Carol had, and he tried to hold onto his fraying sense of hope that the others tried to lend him. He wasn't sure what to believe, but if there was a God, He surely had an affinity for sadism, to allow a mother to relive the death of her daughter over and over again. How much pain could one woman endure without consequence?

The hardest part for Daryl was that she refused to let herself be comforted by his soft words. It stoked his insecurities. He tried not to take the rejection personally, knowing she wasn't herself, but he couldn't shake the feeling that she was lost to him, and he spent his waking hours wondering if she'd ever make her way back.

"Think you been cooped up in here too long," Michonne reasoned calmly.

Daryl stared coldly into her sympathetic brown eyes until he realized she was not the source of his ire. Something broke inside him, and the urge to fight slowly dissipated. The ice in his eyes melted into despair.

It was painful for Michonne to watch his transformation. Briefly, she saw how vulnerable he felt—how terrified. How close beneath the surface the fear of his own powerlessness lay. How desperate he was to avoid it. She knew he needed a distraction.

"And I can tell you never had that shower," she admonished him with a warm smile. "Go on, get out of here. I'll stay with her."

"Ain't goin' nowhere. She could wake up. Been doin' that a lot," he flashed her a look of warning. "And she don't know you."

Michonne gave him a puzzled look, but didn't take his attitude personally.

"We were gonna have a meetin' when y'all got back," Daryl sighed and nodded towards the hallway. She stepped outside the cell, and he followed.

In the hallway, he quietly disclosed the key details of the events that had unfolded the day before. Michonne kept pestering him with questions and wouldn't leave him alone until he finally agreed to wake Hershel to have him sit with Carol.

Afterward, Daryl silently slipped out of the cellblock into the bleak morning, his hopeless sense of inadequacy chipping away at his brittle confidence, held together only by an inexhaustible rage. Barely aware of how the cool air cut through him, he eagerly sought something to do to keep himself occupied and from unraveling altogether. He was desperate to restore his sense of efficacy, which had been slowly eroded by the frightened whimpers that leaked steadily from Carol throughout the night. Propelled by this unrestrained fury, he stomped out into the gray dawn, down to the reinforced fence, where he began to pick off the accumulated walkers that had clustered there, trying to rid himself of the feelings of impotence that had built up inside him. The effort seemed to do little to quell the wrath, but provided him at least with a temporary distraction.

As he violently stabbed the decaying walkers with a crowbar, he noticed a couple of dead rats at the base of the fence. Another lay partially devoured between the links. He turned to survey the yard but could not discern clear tracks in the grass. Everyone came outside to work or otherwise enjoy the fresh air. Less than a dozen survivors from Woodbury and the environs now remained with them at the prison. The ones who hadn't gotten sick. Naturally, Daryl's suspicions originated with them, since he knew them the least. The danger lurking within continued to fuel his anger. They needed to seek it out and eliminate it. He wasn't going to rest easy until it was done. Especially not with Carol so—incapacitated.

Against his will, his mind returned to the filthy floor of that derelict trailer in the woods. Her pale skin was a purple patchwork of contusions and festering lacerations that barely clung to her protruding bones. She had been nearly lifeless; a skeleton.

 _If we had arrived any later_ –

His heart, bloodthirsty with his need for vengeance, contracted sharply in his chest. The pain of it pulled him from the memory and fed his fury. He turned back to the fence and shoved the crowbar deep into the eye socket of a male walker, giving it a vicious twist before pulling it out. Before the body had even collapsed to the ground, Daryl was savagely thrusting the cold iron into the groin of another as he plotted his revenge.

When he had finished butchering the dead, he swayed as he stood there, taking in the carnage, intoxicated by his bloodlust, before stumbling towards the parked vehicles. With single-minded focus, he reached the pickup and drove outside the fence to gather the bodies for burning, a task normally requiring a partner. Juiced up on adrenaline, he threw himself into the back-breaking task of piling the bodies into the truck bed. He didn't even notice Rick tramping across the outer field towards him.

Rick had caught the end of Daryl's violent outrage, recalling his own grief-filled descent into madness after Lori's death. He was filled with compunction for his decision to banish Carol. He hadn't known what the right thing to do was, but unilaterally meting out her punishment had not been any wiser than her decision to act alone in the killing of Karen and David. Daryl was right, he realized, the council was created to reduce the strain on a single leader. Rick made too many mistakes, and it seemed the list of the people he'd failed grew exponentially. Carol was his sister; she had fought by his side, looked after his children, nursed his wounds. Letting fear dictate his actions, he betrayed her trust and brought harm to her by forcing her out because he was unable to forgive her. Now, it didn't seem possible to forgive himself for the wreckage that lay in his wake. He had failed his children and his brother, too. He had failed them all. However long it took, he was going to redeem himself; he owed Daryl too much not to try to make amends. It wasn't going to be easy; the hunter was coiled tightly and poised to strike out at any moment. Still, he needed to try. Deliberately, Rick made his way towards the angry man.

"Looks like rain's coming," Rick stated as he approached.

Soaked with sweat, Daryl was pulling the torso of a large corpse onto the bed of the truck. "Looks like," Daryl commented snidely, continuing his work without a glance. In the past, it would have been an invitation to chit chat, but Daryl had no intention of stopping to make idle conversation with the man.

Once he slid the body in place, Daryl jumped down from the back of the truck to grab another one. Rick moved to try to help Daryl lift its feet.

"I got it," Daryl growled as he jerked the rotting corpse away and clumsily tossed it into the truck bed. Stubbornly, he preferred to struggle alone with the task rather than accept any help from Rick.

Rick stared back at Daryl with frustration. "I'm trying here, Daryl."

"Trying what exactly?" Daryl snapped resentfully. "Tryin to make nice? Like a little chat about the weather's gonna smooth it all over? Water under the bridge, hmm? Well, it ain't under the fuckin' bridge, Rick. There's a goddamn flood!"

Angrily, Daryl threw up his hands as he tried to push away the feelings of powerlessness that were encroaching upon him once again. He shook his head violently to disperse the images from his dream that inundated him again from behind his eyes, but the weight of the visions was pressing down too heavily on his chest.

"All this time I had with her, and I...I let her slip through my fingers," his voice crackled with pain, making him pause. Swallowing his remorse, he remained determined to continue. "But I ain't gonna let her drown."

He bit down hard on his lip to tighten the lid on his resolve and prevent the welling tears from falling. They burned in his eyes, refueling his anger. Agitated, Daryl began to pace.

"But you," he shook his finger at Rick emphatically, "you threw her out like yesterday's scraps and fed her to the wolves! Now you want me to jus' roll over an' play nice? For what? To ease your guilty conscience?" He stopped in front of Rick to glare at him. "I can't forget what you did. How? How can I? Every time I look at you..." he winced. "I can't unsee what they did to her!" Turning away to deter another visual assault, his mouth filled with a bitter taste that he spat on the ground, trying to expel it.

Scratching his beard, Rick withstood Daryl's wrath, understanding the pain the hunter was in and knowing he was responsible for it.

"I know you're worried about her, scared she won't remember. I get that. And I screwed up. I get that, too. Okay? You have every right to be angry. You do. I made another bad call. I was tryin' to... I didn't realize... I owe you both more than I can ever repay you. But that's not going to stop me from trying. In the meantime, we still need to work together. We have to. Just let me help you, Daryl."

Daryl drew his brow into a cynical scowl. "Help me? Don't think I can afford your kind o' help, Rick. No! You drew a line in the sand. Made it clear whose side you're on. And it ain't mine. Ain't hers." His face crumpled distastefully. "Work together? Ha! I've seen what happens to all your partners. Shane? Lori? No, thanks! You're lookin' out for you and yours, and it's fuck all the rest of us." Dismissing the man, he shook his head. "Just stay outta my way."

Getting into the truck, Daryl slammed the door and sped off into the fields to dispose of the bodies. He was hurting and it pained Rick to see what he had done to the man he considered his brother.

* * *

Daryl skipped breakfast. He couldn't stomach the oatmeal again. They needed meat, but the snares were empty that morning, and he couldn't leave the prison now. Who was left to send out on a hunt? Michonne was the only one of them who could be quiet enough in the woods. But she had just returned, it wasn't right to send her back out again. The guilt began to eat at him. It was too bad, because he really needed to kill something. It made him itchy just thinking about it. Crawling in his own skin, he paced outside the cellblock under the overcast sky. It felt like as long as he kept moving, the dangerous thoughts wouldn't have time to coalesce in his mind. Time seemed to creep as he braced himself for the council meeting they were having later that morning to discuss Carol's situation.

When the hour finally arrived, he checked on Carol before heading to the meeting. She was lying on the bed facing the wall and seemed to be sleeping peacefully. Beth was in the cell with her, reading in a chair in the corner. The girl glanced up and smiled at him when she saw him hovering in the doorway. He nodded at her and made his way to the library, where Sasha, Glenn, and Hershel had already gathered. Michonne, who had taken Carol's place, was also seated at the table.

Prior to opening up the discussion to the whole group, the council met privately to address a few other issues. It didn't take long for them to get right to business.

"Found more rats out by the fence this morning," Daryl said. "We gotta set up a patrol around the perimeter."

"Could it be someone from outside?" Michonne wondered.

"Maybe. But from the looks of it, it's more likely an inside job," he said.

"And there's the matter of the dead rabbits," Glenn stated in accordance. "Those were definitely from inside. Think it's all the same person? A group?"

"But who?" inquired Sasha. "And why?"

"Kevin's the only one left from the Decatur group. He's kind of a hot head. Do you think it could be retaliation for Karen and David?" he asked the question Daryl was thinking.

"Can't be," Sasha explained. "Rats were showing up before they were killed." She looked Daryl square in the eye. "Listen, I told Tyreese about Carol. About what she did."

Daryl's eyes simmered with rage, feeling the argument brewing in his chest.

"He's my brother," she explained, meeting his anger with a familiar rationale. "He had a right to know," she emphasized, dismissing his challenge before it left his lips. "But I understand her reasons. I saw what that sickness did to people, what it almost did to me."

"He gonna be a problem?" he demanded.

Sasha raised her eyebrows and gave an uncertain, sideways nod of her head. "I'm working on him," she explained.

It wasn't much of a reassurance, Daryl thought to himself. He frowned, but nodded at her, showing his acceptance of her answer and moving on.

"When was the last time anyone went down to the lower level?" he inquired.

"It's been a few weeks," Sasha said. "But the gate was locked last time I checked it. Around the time Tyreese found that mutilated rabbit down there."

The basement had always been the most vulnerable because the north side of the prison had been badly damaged. It was how Sasha and Tyreese had found the survivors originally. They had fought their way up through the tombs into the belly of the prison. When the group finally cleared out the prison's lower level, they built a gate to prevent walkers and others from wandering in. They had chosen a gate rather than blocking it off permanently, just in case the survivors needed another way to sneak out of the prison. After the Governor's attack, they had to rethink all of their emergency strategies.

"I'll put a team together, and we'll go down to check it out in the next few days," Glenn offered.

"Nah, better add a basement sweep to the patrol route. We're sittin' ducks if it gets breached without anyone knowin'." They needed to crack down on safety, Daryl thought. "We gotta start installin' those solar panels, too. The battery's tapped on the generator. It'll be more efficient, and we can keep the fuel for the vehicles. Just for runs."

"Where can we get a new battery?" Glenn asked. "That generator is ancient. Think they still even make them? I saw the plans Marcus drafted. It'll take a while for us to gather what we need to install enough of those solar panels."

"We did fine without electricity," Hershel said. "We can go a few weeks without it. Stick to the lanterns and flashlights for now. Ration out the batteries."

"I'll put a team together to track down the solar panels and equipment," Michonne added.

"Anything else before we let everyone else in?" Hershel asked.

When the question was answered with silence, he opened the door to the library and the others began to file in. Daryl had been dreading the whole situation. Having to face everyone at the meeting was in direct conflict with his desire to avoid thinking about it. He didn't want to be reminded of what happened to Carol; her current vulnerability made him uneasy. In his mind, his inadequacy was complicit in her banishment, and his guilt continued to deplete his meager stores of hope for her recovery. On top of it, there was an active threat within their fences. The pressure just kept mounting and hardening in his chest.

He never asked to be a leader, but somehow he felt the burden of it all the same. The council had been Carol's idea. Daryl recalled the day she and Hershel ganged up on him and pressed him to participate.

_"We need someone who's good in a crisis, and you've proven yourself of that, son," Hershel had told him. "Plus, you can handle yourself out there. We need someone like that to plan strategies for supply runs."_

_"You got Glenn," Daryl had reminded them. He had never thought he had been good at anything._

_"Glenn is quick, no doubt about it," Carol had said perceptively, "but you have a lot of experience in...evasive maneuvers."_

Daryl sighed in futility, knowing he couldn't escape.

As they arrived, the survivors began to seat themselves in the remaining chairs and on the floor along the bookshelves. When everyone had finally gathered in the library, Daryl was relieved as Hershel took the reins and led the discussion. Daryl avoided looking at both Rick and Tyreese, choosing to focus instead on the two girls, Lizzie and Mika, who sat between Maggie and Glenn. The younger one smiled at him nervously, and it hit him in his gut how much she reminded him of Sophia.  _No wonder Carol had her doubts._  He lifted his chin to acknowledge the girl, but let his eyes drift away to keep his distance.

Overwhelmed by the proceedings, Daryl zoned out, neglecting the discussion. He began to scan the room, seizing up the handful of others that were new to their family. At the top of his list of suspicious persons was Kevin Cassidy, a sandy-haired blond with dark eyes, the last survivor from the Decatur group that Rick had brought in on his last run. Next was Marcus Jackson, the engineer who had promised to help the group install the solar panels, thereby reducing their need for fuel. Then there was Twyla White, a former bus driver from Newnan; Julio Ramirez, an ex-construction worker; and Mike and Shelia DuBois, a middle-aged couple Daryl and Michonne had found hiding in an old silo, living off of wild leeks and potatoes they dug up on a nearby farm. Daryl couldn't figure out a motive for any of them, except for loyalty. He didn't know how close Kevin was to David to know if the man was vindictive enough to seek vengeance. Daryl only knew how aggrieved he felt when someone he cared about was hurt by another. There was nothing that could stop him from seeking his own sense of justice. Case in point, the Governor was dead, and the men who defiled Carol would someday meet the same fate.

As his revenge fantasies began to fade, Hershel's words began to leak into Daryl's consciousness.

"So, it's become very clear that in addition to her memory problems, Carol is also suffering from emotional ones. She is easily overwhelmed. There's been so much that's occurred, her mind is not able to process everything that's happened to her, and she just blacks out for a while."

"I've seen it before," Bob nodded with understanding, "in soldiers. Hazard of the job. It's not uncommon when someone has experienced a life-threatening event. Or multiple ones. It's like they're there, but they're not there. They're completely zoned out. I felt a little like that myself when you first found me."

He found Daryl's eyes in the crowd. Bob could identify with the loss that was burned into the ashen hollows on Daryl's face. The hunter looked a step away from death itself.

"We need to provide her with a safe, predictable environment," Hershel continued to explain, "in order for her to start feeling secure enough to recover her memories and begin to put the pieces together. She's remembered a little bit, but it seems to be all jumbled up inside her. She likely doesn't have a clear linear narrative to explain when these memories occurred or how, and that's adding to her confusion. They're causing her nightmares. She's having flashbacks, meaning that she is experiencing these memories as if they are happening to her in the present.

"It's in her best interest that we restrict our interactions with her until she's built up enough trust with those she's already met. Then, over time, we can slowly introduce her to everyone else."

* * *

Daryl wasn't sure how he made it through the meeting. But suddenly, Sasha was staring at him with a furrowed brow.

"You okay?"

Nodding once, he grunted at her. "Gotta be."

The skeptical crease in her brow deepened, and she tried to stare the truth out of him. But it was an ineffective tactic. She didn't blame him for brooding over her admission that she had revealed the truth about Carol to Tyreese. He would be angry with her for a bit, but he would get over it. Accepting this, she simply left.

When Daryl turned to head back into C-block, he found Michonne standing there with her arms akimbo. Her eyes were firmly focused on him. "I can stand here all day, 'cause we both know that's bullshit."

He glowered at the astute woman for seeing through his thin defenses and shifted the weight in his feet, turning away from her scrutiny.

"I know you," she continued tenaciously, unfazed by his subterfuge. "All that time on the road out there together taught me a few things. I know your card tricks, remember? So trust me when I tell you that I know that what we saw in that trailer is still with you. Because it's still with me. And now you're carrying everything because you think you have to. But you don't. You can't keep pushing it down. You have to do something about it. Before it destroys you."

Her warning only annoyed him, so he hastily slipped away from her. He was done talking.

But she had been right. And the truth of it writhed under his skin and kept twisting, intensifying as the stress he carried tightened around him. He finally admitted to himself that he needed some time to decompress. On the way to pick up some clean clothes from his cell, he checked on Carol again. She was still lying on her side with her face to the wall, so he thought she was sleeping. His regret was just another cruel cinch in his chest.

"M'gonna take a shower," he told Beth shyly. It still felt odd to him, informing anyone about his activities. "Get your father if you need anythin'."

"I will," Beth promised.

Wearily, he made his way to the empty shower room. Grateful for the privacy it afforded him, he tossed his clean clothes on an empty bench with a sigh of relief. He needed the respite from his constant worry. It had been too long since he had really focused on any of his own needs or had any speck of solitude. But his guilt was merciless.

His body was stiff and aching from all the recent turmoil. He was just noticing the extent of his fatigue. Hell, if he was really being honest with himself, he'd been tapped out and running on fumes since the tragedy in D-block. It had just been one disaster after another after that. Time alone was a luxury he hadn't been able to afford. Weeks of sleeping on the cold, hard ground had taken its toll, reminding him that he wasn't getting any younger. But he knew he'd go through it all again just to know Carol was safe. The burden of it all had buried itself deep into the cracks of his skin, leaving him ripe with the sweat of his hard labor. His bones creaked as he bent to pull off his dirt-encrusted pants that hung loosely at his hips now. The cleanest part of him was the shirt Michonne had handed him to wear the night before and that, too, was now infused with a sticky film of walker guts and sweat. Slowly peeling the clothes from his afflicted body, he finally bared himself.

Standing there defenseless on the concrete floor, a memory of a happier time broke through.

_"Can you imagine? Real showers?" Carol asked dreamily as they discussed their plans to bring water from the creek into the prison._

_"Daryl probably doesn't know what you're talking about," Glenn teased._

_"Shut up! Jus' 'cause I don't mind a li'l dirt_ – _"_

_"Hmm. I woulda pegged Daryl for a bath man. All that time at Hershel's, always sneakin' off to the pond," T-Dog chuckled heartily._

_"We'll just have to pick up a bathtub on the next run. And some Mr. Bubble. We'll tell everyone it's for the baby," Glenn smirked, "but we'll know the truth."_

_"Ha! That's something I'd like to see," Carol stated provocatively. "Daryl Dixon in a bubble bath." She squinted her eyes as if picturing the moment, making him blush just for imagining her seeing him in that way and wondering how it might come to be._

_"Ain't nothin' wrong with relaxin' after a long day," Daryl said defensively._

_Snorted laughter erupted among them._

_"Shut up!"_

As the memory faded, he felt even more alone in his devastating heartbreak.

He stood naked on the cold tile, an effigy of saddled grief, as the cool water streamed down the length of his tired frame. After a while, the soothing trickle of the water began to erode the wall that Daryl had constructed around himself out of sheer will. Like a dam bursting, a sob erupted through his body as thick layers of accumulated grime began to fall away. His resistance weakened. Collapsing at the knees, he fell like a wounded soldier exhausted from a lengthy battle. Every emotion blew forth like a ruptured artery, and he felt himself bleed out. The panic over D-block, the dreadful mega-herd they barely escaped from, the shock of losing Carol so abruptly, the anger over Rick's betrayal, the overwhelming horror of seeing Carol so shattered and unrecognizable, the total disgust and violent fury over what had happened to her out there—it was a heavy load, and tears spouted from his eyes from the pressure of carrying it all. His long-held suffering leaving him prostrate, he let it run down the drain as it sought its desperate release.

Broken open and emptied of his burden, Daryl found himself doing something completely unfamiliar—he prayed.

_Know I ain't worthy, but if anyone deserves mercy it's her. Please. Please help her to find her way back to us._

He wasn't a true believer. But he wasn't doing this for himself. It was all for her. When it came to helping Carol, he would upend every granite boulder to make her happy and feel safe. There was no risk too great, nothing he would not sacrifice. He would bow before kings and gods, humiliate himself, cut off his own limb, knowingly lay down his life for her. Begging for mercy to be shown to the woman he loved was nothing to him if it could provide her with some relief. God had never done him any favors, and had likely forsaken the world with the state it was in, but Daryl could not afford his pride. It had already cost him too much.

The crisp water felt invigorating. Trying to let everything else go, he focused on the feel of it against his skin. He let it wash over him as he lathered himself with hope, cleansing both his body and soul.

He was truly glad to be home. He'd never felt that way before about any place he'd ever lived. Then again, love and hope had always been in short supply where he was from. But he'd found his place among this tight band of survivors. Hell, he'd earned it with his own sweat and blood.

By the time he finished showering, Daryl was beginning to believe that things could be alright. He still didn't know how to move forward with Rick, but he couldn't let his rage cripple him. As he dressed, he got to thinking that even if Carol didn't recover right away, he and the others would support her and help her to find her place among them. Most of all, he had to keep believing it was possible for Carol to remember, because the alternative was too unbearable.

Walking back to the cellblock, Daryl felt more relaxed, virtually renewed


End file.
